


Sinnerman

by Punk_in_Docs



Category: AU Star Wars - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Kylo Ren, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is a Mess, Ben Solo is a smug slut, Ben is bi, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bored Violent Sociopath Kylo Ren, Chance Meetings, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominant Kylo Ren, Erotica, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, First Meetings, Heavy Angst, Interrogation, It starts dark... but ends so FLUFFY ok, Killer & Kitten, Killer!Kylo, Knifeplay, Kylo Calls reader Kitten a lot, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo is an Architect, Librarians, Misunderstandings, Murderers, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Obsession, Oh the depravity!!!, PTSD, Porn With Plot, Prison, Prisoner!AU, Prisoner!Kylo, Protective Kylo Ren, Reader is lamb: Kylo is Lion, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Stalking, Top Ben Solo, Top Kylo Ren, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Writers, and rich as hell, dub con, honestly; nothing remotely healthy about this fic, hux is gay, killer kylo, kinda slow burn to the smut (sorry!), more killing..., prisoner, stalkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 61
Words: 458,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: Prisoner!Killer!Kylo/OC AUIn which a sweet crime writer goes to question a convicted scarred murderer; what could possibly go wrong? (Many things)He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink in her seat. Seen how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect upon her...Seeing her in here after so many goddamn days and years limited purely to the bland familiar sights of fellow prison inmates and guards. Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here, and see what little treat sat awaiting him, was like New Years Eve in Paris.After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath.





	1. Lions & Lambs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asnackdriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asnackdriver/gifts).



> Sooooo, been sitting on this pretty dark idea for a few months now. Had to get it down. Yes, ok, I'm a sucker for another AU version of tattooed Kylo. and yes I will also be continuing Renegade too now I have the time. But for now, enjoy my Kylo/Kitten pairing... do let me know what you think... as always, thirsts, kudos, comments, anything, hmu my pretties.... love from your friendly, local, Kylo AU, trash pile, punk xxxx 
> 
> Oh! And um. Mel? You know what you did xxxx basically hashed out this entire novel idea with me and my thirst for the last few months. lots of love to you blessed enabler. You keep me true. I can't claim full responsibility for this fic in the most glorious sense, because in a fun way it was both our brain baby that grew on from our conversations/thirst/smutty ideas. honestly, spring for a crown my love, you are the enabling queen and I am a humble word peasant <3
> 
> Buckle up readers; this here be dark, and smutty (and in no way healthy)

 

 

 

Evelyn Winslow was the kind of woman no one ever saw.

Not that this was ever a detrimental feature. Matter of fact, she thrived happily behind this persona. All her life she’d been the bookish one. The shy one. The bibliophile who hid herself away behind her self-constructed, unbreakable, fortress of comfort. Supported by books and her intelligence. Held up faithfully by her own proclivity to be first and foremost, who she was comfortable to be. All for herself, and no one else. Which was just as well. She was a daughter to a single mother, and was raised by both her grandmother and mother alike. It had been many years since she’d lost her granny to cursed old age and her mother to a rotten illness.

She was entirely alone in her world. It was populated now by nothing other than her small corner of cherished hobbies, and her job to fulfil her. It kept her sane, and happy. Even if the loneliness did creep In sometimes… and she was hardly the type of girl to have legions of men fawning after her as lovers… She was a reserved, quiet person who was happy with her own set of well-loved interests.

This was obvious from the first glimpse of her. Drab formal work-wear wrapped around her unremarkable, small, body, swathed in her trusty granny cardigan, with a patch sewn roughly over the worn elbow. Her round, owl-like reading glasses perched happily on her pale face. Her plain hair, chestnut auburn, somewhat shiny, but somewhat straggly, was smoothed back into an artless bun at the back of her neck. Though despite her best efforts, wisps of it still managed to catch in her face, swinging in front of her glasses clad eyes and her ears.

She was perched on the edge of an unfathomably uncomfortable plastic chair. Her small form getting swallowed up into the artless frame the seat offered. One that she couldn’t help but think didn’t mould to cradle the shape of anyone’s ass. Her body was alight with nerves, she tried to absolve her trembling hands on the reliable paperback she’d sloped in her lap, hoping she could lose herself in the words, and they would provide her the usual succour of her favourite novel. But the worn, water warped paper backed book did nothing to aid her. Not when she was in this place.

This great sprawling concrete building took up most of the horizon, like some ugly beast. She had hesitated getting out of the car three times before she bit the bullet and went inside. Entering the place was a challenge in itself. Two forms of ID required, a security check, bag search and finally she was allowed inside this awful, cavernous place.

She’d been escorted along the drab, cold halls by a broad, silent guard. The hallway she’d been led down filled full of the far off clamour of all male noise. The musty air mingled with the stale stench of ancient sterile cleaning products that she was sure had been pasted over the peeling lino floors with a mop, in the not too distant past by some inmate.

The lumbering guard ahead of her didn’t even bat an eyelid when he led her down a walkway, high above what she could discern was a common room of sorts. Down below, she could see pool tables, and normal tables gathered in groups, surrounded by tall columns of orange clad men of all shapes and sizes mingled around them. Heat flooded to her cheeks when came the first wolf whistle aimed up at her. She ignored the rising clamour of shouts and calls that were sent her way. Some voices more distinguishable than others, unfortunately.

Voices erupted from beside them too. They walked past rows of white barred cells. She flinched out of her skin when one huge man thudded down from his top bunk and rattled the bars of his cell so loud it almost knocked her off her feet. She tried to keep her eyes down as the guard had said, and not interact. But at his rough voice and even rougher words she made the mistake of flickering her eyes across to him.

“Come over here bitch, I wanna get a good look at you.” He all but spat at her. His hands braced on the bars, leaning closer. She fixated on the scar that divided his face. The shaven crop of his hair, and the tattoos that marred his thick arms. By the time he dropped his head to clock her ass, his smile was a leer. The guard seems to take notice of the prisoner and sends back a harsh bark of warning to him.

She found her courage, and her legs re-joined, and she moved off. Her cheeks pink, her shame broadcasting out of every pore. Her fear and her anxiety palphable in the air. Almost as if she could reach out and touch the cloud of nerves surrounding her.

“Don’t let these scum know you’re scared. They’ll eat it up if you do.” The guard casually tossed over his shoulder as they came to another set of stairs, leading away from the commotion of the common room. Evie frowned at his words. And gulped too.

It was obvious from the off, not as if she needed the confirmation, but it was clear this place didn’t welcome nor warm well to outsiders. Eventually her silent bidder of doom led her to another waiting room, and told her to be patient and that the Prison shrink would be with her soon to debrief her about her visit.

So here she found herself. Jiggling with nervousness. Reeling from the rough words of the prisoner who’d gotten off from scaring her half to death. Feasting on her with no more than his eyes like she was a porterhouse steak. Sickness and dread bubbled up in her stomach, cloying sour in her throat. She picked a stray thread off her drab grey skirt. Tucking her teal cardigan tighter around herself. She was feeling clammy and terrified. The dank air in here serving to make pimples raise on her exposed legs.

She’d taken the dress code very seriously. Her sensible grey skirt came to her knees. She wore simple kitten heels on her feet. Her white blouse and her cerulean blue wool cardigan were both buttoned modestly across her décolletage. Nothing to invoke or enflame masculine attention. She was well versed in that rule. Her makeup was practically non-existent.  No lip colour, barely any blush. Nothing to conceal the bags under her eyes and only a sweep of mascara to darken her lashes. She’d been scrupulous about everything. Only cursing herself when she lapsed, forgetting the dress code when she spritzed perfume on her wrists and dabbed some on her neck this morning. Assured the guard opposite wasn’t watching, she lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled. Nothing but the scent of her washing detergent and the soft scent of her skin. She flattered herself she might get away with it…

Nervously tapping her foot, she put her ineffective novel away and reached for the file in her bag. Reacquainting herself with the contents which she was sure she knew off heart by now. She’d read over prisoner ID 623859’s profile numerous times. She’d gone over it time and time again, hoping it would make her feel more prepared. It was an odd thing; there she was, of an evening, curled up on her sunny front porch, in the porch swing, with a glass of white wine, going over the file of this perfect stranger. This whole man in his entirety, having been consigned to a number, and a charge sheet.. The absurdity and callous nature of it had struck her as a very cold and brutal thing. To add insult, the file had lacked a mug shot. So she couldn’t even see what he looked like. Her boss had shrugged when she bought it up. The photo had gotten lost or dropped out at some point perhaps… did it matter? To Evie it did. They could atleast give this man the decency of being treated like a human being.

And now she was here, and it was all so real. She’d be meeting the man behind this file in a mere matter of moments.

She’d  interviewed a few prisoners before, all in the line of duty for her work as a crime writer. But they’d been in on minor charges such as breaking and entering, arson, car theft or fraud.

She’d never had to sit across the interrogation table from a killer before.

Because ID 623859 was a lifer, who’d been sent down for five counts of first degree murder four years ago. A step up from her usual inmates doing 2 – 3 years for good behaviour and the district attorney arguing for whittling their case down to community service rather than jail time. Out of her comfort zone couldn’t even describe the place she found herself in right now.

She was so idly consumed in the file, the reverberating clang of bars in front of her echoed in her bones, startling her yet again out of her daze. Looking up she met the gaze of a very run down man who tiredly called out her name in confirmation.

“Winslow?” He asked morosely.

She darted up nervously. Pushing her glasses up her nose. Tucking hair behind her ear. Her anxious tick, she’d always been told by her granny. The laminated name badge pinned to her chest earlier clattered against her arms when she stood. She nervously shut the file and stepped towards the man. Awkwardly jerking her hand out from under the coat folded over her arm.

“Hello. Yes. Uh, you must be Doctor Finch…” She greets politely. Finch assessed her with a fatigued flick, up and down, of his eyes.

“This way..” He greeted with little enthusiasm. Encouraging her to follow. He didn’t return her handshake. He was a short, stout man. Dressed in a drab puce green shirt, with sweat stains at his armpits, and a bland brown tie knotted around his neck like a lifeless noose. His trousers were wrinkled and his shoes looked unloved to say the least. Even with his olive skin, his salt and pepper balding hair and baggy eyes spoke volumes of his jaded despondency with his job. As she followed him she noted the scent of stale sweat, bad coffee and awful cheap cologne followed him as he moved. Everything about this man seemed stale.

She trailed after him obediently in silence, the only sound they made was his lolloping steps from his heavy boots, and the dainty click of her heels hitting the lino floor. It wasn’t until they got to the second door that he spoke. His voice too, was fusty.

“So. You’re here to see Ren…” He lets his question hang in the air.

“Uh. Yes.” She speaks up. “I’m from Armstrong & Lowery Publishing. I was tasked along with a few in house authors to write criminal profiles for a memoir series. Very edgy. Uh, plenty of personal insight into life after conviction...” She explained. He replied with a less than impressed grunt.

“Lucky you.” He answered drily without looking back at her. The pit of hope in her stomach dried up. She wouldn’t be making any friends in here, that was for certain.

“Now listen…” He breathes out blearily. “This isn’t some tame convict whose serving time for joyriding…” He begins. For the first time since they’d met, he turned to her and stared her down deep with the depths of his dark eyes.

“This criminal is a violent, dangerous, sociopath who brutally attacked and killed five men in cold blood.” He tells her. Each word punching out his mouth with heavy gravity. She nods.

“I read his file…” She offers weakly.

He scoffs.

“Then you’ve barely scratched the surface, girly.” He tells her with a hint of amusement in his voice. Do you always make the outside visitors your entertainment? She wonders idly.

“Truthfully. I don’t know what warnings I can give you about Ren.” He starts as he unlocks a barred door from the keys clipped to his belt which strained under the size of his rotunda belly. “One thing I can promise you is that you sure as hell might not get much out of him. He doesn’t tend to like being interrogated by journalists. Ask the last one who came to annoy him with questions.”

Evie froze. He turned around and met her gaze with the threat of his morbid promise glittering in his eyes.

“What happened to the last one?” She asks in a voice that was barely audible.

“They pushed him.” He says. “Ragged on him, dug into his weak points. Delved far too deep into his personal life for his liking…” Finch tells.

“Even handcuffed to the table, he managed to reach across and break their arm in three places. And he didn’t even work up a drop of sweat as he did it.” He warns. “...And don’t go thinking provoking him is the only way to set him off either. Two years ago I was performing a routine eval of him, and he lunged across that table and stabbed my own pen through my hand when I tried to get him to finally open up about his childhood.” As he spoke, he held up his right hand, and she could see the uneven bump of a small jagged scar sat on his palm.

Evie blinks. Her spine felt frozen rigid in fear. It took an enormous portion of her courage to step through the barred door he held open for her.

“If you’ve talked to other prisoners before, then you’re up on the familiar protocol… No reaching over. Don’t pass them anything except paper. Keep your hands to yourself. Dress appropriately. Don’t rile them. And when times called, times up. Visitors and Prisoners both follow the rules, that clear?  You stay seated until the prisoner is escorted out by the guards… the usual fuss…” He adds.

She thinks she may have nodded in response. She isn’t entirely sure.

He walks her down another long hallway. This one was much different to the one the other guard had led her down. There were no bars. No open communal spaces. The doors here weren’t bars, they were solid heavy metal. With tiny shuttered windows on each one. She didn’t need to be told what kind of men were kept back behind these doors. She soldiers on. Acutely aware of the clack of her heels that rung through the hallway with each step she took. How unfamiliar a sound like that must be in this miserable, rigid institution.

“What else can you tell me about him?” She braves to ask. “Something that isn’t in his file?”

Finch sighs and goes quiet for a moment, fiddling with the keys in his hands to find the next one for the interrogation room.

“You want my honest opinion?” He speaks up. Standing stiffly and regarding her for a moment. She waits patiently for his assessment.

“He ain’t seen or talked to a woman in three years. You want the truth, I think that’s gonna have a big effect in how he reacts to you. I don’t know if it’ll necessarily help you or hurt you. You may arouse his interest, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna give you answers. He’s not gonna open up to you just cause you’re a woman. He won’t see you as some compassionate, kind, caring shoulder to lean on. For all I know, you going in there to question him could be putting you in serious danger.” He tells her seriously.

No sugar coating news around here.

That was when he stepped closer and unashamedly took a deep breath next to the air surrounding her shoulder. She shrunk back a little, perturbed.

“Forgive my asking. But did you put perfume on this morning?” He asks her in a bored monotone.

Her cheeks heat. “Habit.” She tells him, embarrassed at having been caught out. His eyes turn to points

“Next time? Don’t. He’ll pick up on that.” He tells her off sharply. She bobbles a nod once again. He turns and continues their long walk to the interrogation room.

“Now. There’ll be guards posted outside the door. And I need to mention for safety all your conversations will be recorded. I’ll be watching the two of you from the anteroom on the video monitor. If he tries anything. We’ll be there hopefully before anything can happen. We’ve learnt the hard way to step our measures when it comes to Ren, for both inmates and visitors.” He tells her.

“I read about his… uh injury… After his sentence here…” She tells Finch. “The altercation with the other prisoner, in the yard.”

“Nastiest thing I’ve seen in a long while.” He tells her. Back to her as he punched a key code into the panel on the wall. A harsh blare opened to cell door, showing her the rows of silver tables and fixed chairs inside.

She’d read in the file about what happened not long after he was first incarcerated. Some gang set after Ren during yard time one day, and the leader took his shiv and carved a scar down from his forehead to his shoulder. Holding him down as he did to teach the new pretty boy who was top dog. They had swaggered off, assured they’d cemented who was the alpha. When Ren, bleeding profusely, and in probably unfathomable amounts of pain, chased the guy down, beat him half to death, buried the guys own shiv in his thigh - and bit out a chunk of the leaders face for good measure. It took four guards to get Ren off him before he killed the fellow prisoner. guards, prisoners and visitors gave him a wide berth after that. No one dare looked in his direction if they knew what was good for them.

“Since that day he’s been in solitary cell confinement for his sentence here. Can’t trust him to be the type to get along with a bunk mate.” Finch spoke under his breath, as if he was speaking disappointedly about an errant child who didn’t gel with other people. He’d gone through two cell mates here in his first month. Both of whom barely escaped with their lives.

He waved his arm, indicating for her to take a seat at one of the tables.

“Standard procedure. The prisoner will be escorted in shortly, Ms Winslow. Take a seat…” He tells her. She steps past. Clutching her coat in her arms as if it could protect her. She chose the table in the far corner. And spread her folded coat across the back of the chair. Nerves squirming in her belly like some rabid, wild animal was trying to burrow into her stomach. She tucked a strand of her hair and took a seat. The worn and scratched metal chair under her making her skin thrash coolly as she lowered down onto it. Tainting her skin with goosebumps. The hair at the back of her neck was needled straight on end with terror.

“I’ll be in the monitor room watching. Try not to let him play too many of his games with you, and remember. Don’t antagonise him…Best of luck…” Finch sniped at her before he shuffled away out of sight. She tried not to let herself think unpleasant thoughts about the insipid, embittered man who clearly despised his job and all those involved along with it.

She fiddled with her glasses, and withdrew her notebook and pen from the confines of her bag. Nervously nibbling on her lower lip. She flexed her cold hands as she flipped to an empty page. Making last minute, nervous adjustments, fixing her badge. Making sure she was still all buttoned up, and presentable. She nervously crossed her legs, feeling that her sheer beige tights slid smoothly along her cold, goose pimpled skin. She wiggled her chilled toes in her shoes. Shamefully aware as she drew her cardigan over her chest, that she was suddenly freezing. For good measure, she crossed her arms over her chest and hunched down in her seat, arms under the table and awaited her fate.

The first thing she heard, was the jangle of the keys scuffing the barred doors unlocking then clanging as they were slid open. She was beginning to understand they were the standard noise to echo and signify movement about this prison. The sound seemed to rattle through her, ringing through her skeleton. Making more dread creep through her. She swallows, her eyes darting to the door where she could hear a few sets of footsteps shuffle and clatter along the vapid lino floor.

There was something else too, along with the heavy sets of treads, she could hear a soft clinking noise shift in the air. It took her a second to come to realise that she could hear his shackles as the prisoner was being shifted along. Cuffed at the ankles and the wrists – for her safety. She heard a door open and close, and Finch’s bored voice rang loud through the halls. They were just metres away, beyond the barred door.

“You be nice now, Ren.” Finch warns.

The clanking stopped for a moment.

“You know I don’t play well with others.” A deep baritone answered drily. The implication in his voice was dangerous. It made her blood run cold.

Evie suddenly wanted to shrink down to about three centimetres tall. She wanted to wither away into the chair like a dried up leaf curling in on itself. She watches Finch unlock the door and then it is filled by the three figures the other side of it. The tall column of orange prisoner is flanked by two guards. They, frankly, looked ineffective in comparison to the figure they were there to guard. They seem more like ineffectual support than anything. Because the solid wall of tall man in the prison jumpsuit was entirely six feet four of fury, rage and danger hemmed into an orange uniform.

He may have been the incarcerated one, but power pulsed about his figure like a far off threat. Lingering in the distance. Always there, chiming gently.

He stands a foot above the two guards, superior, and the small curl of his lips suggests he knows this. Under an unruly mane of inky hair, his eyes look darker than black zirconia’s. The harsh light of the room they’re in reflects in a glimmer back off his black, fathomless eyes.

Lifeless eyes, like sharks eyes, she thinks… dead eyes… the knowledge he was a killer somehow made them more chilling…

He cocks his head at her through the bars and surveys her. Something dark and terrible flares through her belly. She wants to pull up her book, shield herself. Put something, any barrier really, between her and his burning eyes that were boring holes into her like flames scorching paper. It was like looking at something grotesque, it unsettled her down in the very marrow of her bones – but her body just wouldn’t let her look away.

She hadn’t expected to find herself so entranced with his looks. He could definitely be classified as intoxicating. She certainly felt under the influence. He was handsome in an unbelievable and impossible way. Strong, broad features, full lips. A clean shaven chin. Face marred by a thick, jagged track of a vivid red scar running from the top of his forehead entirely down his right cheek, slicing its scarred trail deep into his skin. It told of what made him so dangerous, so brutal. The latticework of violence on his skin written with the tip of someone else’s crude knife. It marred well with the tattoos that she could see covered every inch of his torso. The backs of his hands, twined along his large, thick fingers. Hidden at either side of his pale neck by long strands of his hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. Down the front of his neck, by his clavicle and the exposed top buttons of the stark orange jumpsuit. There too shadowy patterns of ink are shouting their dark tales of his life from the surface of his alabaster skin. Appropriately, She can see teeth, bones, skulls, darkness and blood.

The door is slid open and with a final, resounding thunk, this odd entourage steps into the room. The prisoner is walked across to the table. Evie’s hand itches. She wants to do something normal. She wants to rise to her feet, greet him hello, and shake his hand as if this was a business meeting over coffee. But she can’t. She won’t.

She stays with her ass firmly placed on her seat as if it was cemented there. Her wrist twitches and she fights the proclivity to reach across for a handshake. Rule 1 of prison etiquette; Don’t reach over – keep your hands at all times, to yourself.

Instead she can only sit there, pinned, under the gaze of the gigantic man being led towards her. She felt exposed like this. A rabbit in headlights. Vulnerable. And she wasn’t even the one in shackles here… how was it he still harnessed all the power in the room? She was convinced he managed it by the sheer size of his body alone. He was towering to say the least. She was sure he was a good two feet taller than her. She watched him stride across the room, with the guards shuffling him in by his sides. She saw his long, powerful legs stride him forwards as if he wasn’t even in cuffs, or in this prison at all.

She is cursed to do nothing but watch, as he is led across to her. The guards go either side as he lowers that big body of his into the seat opposite. She fears that he wouldn’t fit onto it. But he eases down and slides his hands forwards onto the metal table top. He unfolds his legs under the table and lets them stretch out, almost hitting hers. He arcs his back and shoulders forwards in the chair and lets his forearms rest on the surface.

She jumps back, flinching in her seat when he drags his shackles harshly across the tables surfaces. The metal whining and shrieking.

Oh, she was sweet. He’d scared the poor little lamb.

She watches the guards chain his joined hands to the metal bar secured on the table top. He sits there, suave, like a king, not even acknowledging the two people securing him. His eyes remained fixed on her.

She wets her lips, and tucks her hair behind her ear. His eyes don’t miss a thing. Evie gives the po-faced guards a wobbly smile, which they do not return, before they shuffle away out of the room. Leaving her all alone to the savage mercy of Kylo Ren.

“You know the rules...” One of them warns him as they shackle his left wrist. How many more warnings was he in for?

“Is that meant for me, or her, Henderson?” He asks. Looking her right in the eye. Appealing to the guard by name.

She gulps. Again.

“None of your trouble here with the lady. Try not to get yourself thrown in the hole for a month this time…” The Guard bays back to Ren’s snappy mouth. Their conversation ends with the harsh clang of the cell door.

“No promises…” He mutters lowly. Growling lowly at her.

Her mouth gapes lightly. And his smile curls up more in the beginnings of a smirk. She felt her bravery deflate at the fact he was staring his piercing gaze into her soul. Yet still referred to her in the third person. As if she wasn’t in the room. As if she wasn’t even here. To him, she supposed, she was an ineffectual, annoying spec. A fly he wished to swat to death with his very large, tattooed hands.

For what feels like the first time, she lets her frightened gaze meet his. She sits up a little straighter and shuffles in her seat, her eyes switch across to the door as the guards flank it and stand silently. Arms crossed, backs ramrod straight. Eyes daggering into Ren’s back. She timidly reaches her hand out for her notebook. Feeling a little like she was dangerously reaching her hand into a lions enclosure at the zoo.

She wets her lips. Summoning the energy to speak. Ren feels his temper simmering under his skin already. Was the damn girl a fucking mute or what?

“Um, Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Ren…” She begins.

He merely narrows his eyes. Otherwise silent as the grave.

“I’m missing my yard time for this. And for what? So a Librarian can ask me the same fucking questions every journalists wants to ask me?” He all but spits out. She can tell he doesn’t really require an answer.

She shuffles. Tucks her hair behind her ear again. Clearly that outburst made her uncomfortable.

“I’m not a journalist…” She corrects weakly.

His impassive, handsome, face made no move to acknowledge her smidgeon of backbone. She looked about as robust as that godawful fraying, fuzzy, granny cardigan she was wearing. He thought about how the heft of it rudely hid her body shape from his eyes.

“My names Evie Winslow. I’m a writer, actually. I’m from a publishing house that’s very interested in your story as a lifer in here. They’re doing a series of inmates personal memoirs to publish into a volume of…”

“Writer. Journalist. What’s the difference…” He lets out under his breath to himself, unamused. To him, they were both annoying, pushy, arrogant suits who only seemed to swan into this place to grill him with personal and infuriatingly nosy questions…

“You look like you know your way around a book. You’ve doubtless read my file judging by that manila folder sticking out your bag… You’ll know my feelings about bossy journalists asking me their annoying questions….” He warns, his voice a dark purr. His threat hanging around in the air. As he spoke, he leaned into the table. Pinning her under that dark gaze once again.

That gaze had kept him safe being locked up in here all these years. It made sure people left him-the-fuck alone. Made sure some of the fucking scum that co-inhabited this place knew not to antagonise him.

She bites at the inside of her lower lip. Mulling over his musings.

“Writers have the luxury of imagination.” She offers simply as an answer. Again, he is silent. But she can see activity at the back of those deep dark eyes as he assesses her.

She was meek. There was no doubting that. He somehow found himself giddy at the fact that she leapt out of her skin when she slowly scraped his shackles across the table.

He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink down. Seen how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect.

After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath. Seeing her in here after so many goddamn day and years limited purely to the bland sights of fellow inmates and guards. Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here and see what little treat sat awaiting him was like New Years Eve in Paris for him.

A writer, was all he’d been told. British too, apparently. What the fuck does some prim suited, stuck- up writer want with him? Visitor signed in as E. Winslow. He’d expected to walk in and see some balding, academic, authorial fat old man. Not a delectable, petite, shapely, dark haired woman.

When he saw her wet her lips as she looked nervously across, he swore to god his cock leapt up to attention under his jumpsuit. He tried to discern more of her figure as he sat, but her frumpy work wear made that a challenge.

He let his mind drift a little as he was shackled in. His eyes went to her chest for only a second. The fuzzy cardigan did well to hide her shape from him. But he could see under those drab work clothes there most likely his a fine figure. The sight of her buttoned over cleavage and the slight hint of her pale sternum made his mouth water. Aswell as the scent of her…

Her fucking scent he could smell all the way down the corridor.

Sweet honeysuckle or some natural shit like that. Lavender. Peonies. Something other than the scent of the paltry institution detergent they washed the prison suits in. That something other was like ambrosia nectar to him. He thanked the stars that she’d put on perfume too. Giving him something to fucking distract him from this fucking pit if for only a damn second. He could trace warm notes of it in the air around her. Something so bright and floral it was all he could do to concentrate on ignoring it. He wanted to lean across and find out with his lips where abouts she sprayed on her soft, silken neck. He wanted to vice her throat in one hand, squeeze, and feel her pulse go crazy under his palm. Crushing her windpipe lightly under his violent grip.

He can’t say he was familiar with her type. She had a lot of things she tried to hide herself away in. Her messily arranged hair, the librarian owl-like glasses, the dull blouse and the boring cardigan; it all screamed ‘safe’ at him. Polar opposite to him, he thought. His entire demeanour was centred off the fact he never hid a thing. Of course, he tried to blend into society’s norms into what was acceptable. But that was a different thing. He was big, tall, unabashed, broad, unashamed, confident. He brazenly wore his temper, his tattoos, his wealth, his piercings – the few he had left. She was the complete photo negative. She seemed designed to take up as little space as was possible. Her personality spoke of her living her quiet, shy life in exactly the way she pleased. No wedding ring visible on her slim finger. From that he could discern that meant she didn’t dress up her petite frame for anyone but herself. Never stepping out of her comfort zone. Never doing anything brazen or risky. She looked like a woman who lived well within the parameters of her cosy, cushy, ineffectual little life.

So what was this nice, educated, girl doing in a place like this? Talking to a man like him?

“Call a spade a spade. You’re here to ask me questions. No matter what job you’ve got.” He grilled with a neutral expression. Piercing right to the point.

He’d got her there.

“Well. Yes, I am…” She adds.

He made no move except to harshly exhale. She could see he was still staring her down like he wanted to cut her into strips, simply for being here.

“What more, personally, can you tell me about your conviction? What was that like?” She begins, holding her notebook open. Her pen poised to take notes.

His jaw grit. Tight.

If she thought he was going to sit here like an obedient lapdog, and answer every personal question she wanted to pry into about his own damn personal life, she could think again…

“Long and boring.” He answers stiffly.

“The trial?” She asks.

No answer comes from him.

“Read. My. File.” He answers shortly.

She blinks, her pen poised over the paper, now blotting a large, sticky ink stain on the creamy lined notebook paper.

“How was it adjusting to prison life?” She ventures. But by now she knows not to get her hopes up for an answer.

“Painful.” Comes the reply with his similar deadpan expression.

“Uh..” She stumbled, trying to find the notes. Flicking through pages and feeling her cheeks glaring red with embarrassment. Her throat was drying up. Her hand trembling. He was so big, and just so terrifying. The veins in his neck were starting to strain up under his skin. Pulsing with the need to keep a foothold on his patience.

“What do you want me to talk about, huh?” He asks suddenly. Bursting forwards even more in his chair. The scraping of the shackles on the table shrieked again. Once more, she jumped at the noise, and he felt his arousal bubbling up with his rage.

“You want me to describe in vivid detail what hurting all those men felt like? How it felt when I held the knife in my hand and ran it into them. Into their skin. Into their guts. How I slit one of their throats and how it felt fucking good to watch the blood pour?” He asks with a little twitch of his head, and morbid fascination in his voice.

 “And with another one…. About how I cut his femoral artery, deep, and watched him die so slowly. People don’t reckon they know how much blood is in the human body. But, ohhh, I do, Kitten. And it’s a lot. I know because I watched a man fade slowly away in a pool of his own blood. By the end he was choking on it.” He explained.  She wanted to flinch at that pet name he’d assigned her in the middle of his murderous diatribe.

“I think you do want to hear it. On some twisted level. You want people to know how it feels. That’s why people will read your fucking memoirs, baby. They want to read about it because they will never know how it feels to be like me. To be like any of the murderers in this place. They can never know. So, they do the next best thing. They come in here and they poke and prod and dissect us with psych evals and dare to call us crazy. When really, they’d do anything to know what it feels like to be a killer. To fall over that edge.”

She felt somehow both sick and feverish. Frozen.

She said nothing, but looked at him with those big, blue, innocent, scared eyes of hers. And my god, the sight of that almost served to make him rock hard under the goddamn table.

“Is that what all you and your type want to hear? I enjoyed killing them. I glad I did it. No I wouldn’t take it back if I could. I’m glad I killed them all. Yes, I do curse every day I’m trapped in this miserable rotten hellhole, being shuffled around like a caged animal. Being told when to sleep. When to piss. When to shower. I miss my freedom.

She just stares for a second. She wasn’t hard hearted enough to scoff at him in derision. No. She was too sweet, he thought. But he could sense her disappointment at him. She chews on the inside of her lower lip again. And then he watches as she lays her pen down…

“What else do you miss most from outside this place then?” She asks after a long moment of silence.

That made him cock his head. It startled him. She’d startled him. The petite, five foot three librarian had astonished the six foot four, gigantic killer.

“What?”

She wet her lips. His big thighs tensed under the table.

“What else do you miss-“

“I heard the goddamn question. Kitten.” He growls with little patience.

Her spine tingled at his oddly soft endearment once again. He knew. Of course he knew. Those pale cheeks went pink, that’s how he knew.

She idly stroked a fingertip over the spine of her closed notebook. He watched her do it. Her hands looked soft. When she glanced over to his, she saw they were marred with scars, calluses, and toughened skin. She wondered how soft they’d feel pressed against hers…

She’d been warned about sharing private information. Warned against sharing anything that wasn’t pertinent to her enquires as a crime writer. But she wanted to level with this dangerous man. As she imagined no one else had ever bothered to do. They took him at face value; a killer, an ID number of six letters. A last name. And that was all. They didn’t look beyond, however hard that may be, and however tricky Ren made it for them, to see the man underneath the prison file.

He was still a human being. Sure, a damaged one. But still…

“I’d miss my garden.” She pipes up.

She flickers her eyes up, watching him as he shifts back to relax slightly into the cold metal cradle of his chair. His wavy hair caught the light, despite what she knew would be years of lax grooming and institution shampoo used on it, it still looked silky. Falling in gentle waves around that unforgettably beautiful face. Most inmates she knew were only allowed bar soap, basic shaving necessities, and loveless bathing products to clean with. He looked like the kind of hardcore man who’d stuck to a strict grooming routine before he came into this place. Cut-throat razor. The finest shaving creams and expensive balms used, to sit lingering their fine fragrance on his skin. Cologne so expensive it was like a scent of the finest luxury with every whiff.

The thought of seeing hot, steamy water run over that broad tattooed figure she knew was lurking under that jumpsuit. Trickling over those rippling muscles in his back, over his shoulder blades, down across his divinely formed- she found herself flushing with longing. She snapped back out of her sordid daydream..

He was clearly reluctant to speak. So she continued. “My Granny left us her house in her will. After my mother passed on also, it became mine. It’s small. Full of hand me downs, antiques, and various knick-knacks. It’s a cheap, dated house now. But it’s warm. Its clean. And it’s all mine. All I have left of my family exists in that house. My little dwelling in the middle of nowhere. One of my earliest memories is planting daisies into terracotta planters with my granny. I must’ve been about, five or six. As a kid I was always outside, playing in the garden. And my mother always roped me into help. And that’s how I came to love it, I guess. I’m at my happiest up to my elbows in dirt putting in a new bed of tulips, or tending my hydrangeas, or seeing my hard labour come to fruition when my jasmine gardenias blossom in the first week of spring. It’s a lovely thing.” She explained. “The smell of my lilac trees on a warm summers morning coming through on the breeze my kitchen window. That’s what I’d miss.

Unless she was very much mistaken, that was a small curl of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. Barely visible. But she knew what she saw…

“Coffee.” Was the word that surprised her when it came sailing out of his lips. A short, staccato bark, really.

She nods.

“Italian coffee. Strong. No milk. Dark as ink. A triple espresso so strong it makes your teeth ache.” He lets out. “The instant shit you get in here tastes like mud.”

“That’s good…” She smiles lightly. Tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She does that a lot, he noticed.

“I could do without being assaulted daily by Finch’s shitty cologne too. But there’s not a lot I can do to change that either.” He grumbles. His eyes turned up to the corner to fix a dark glare into the camera that was pointed down at them. He knew the chubby man would have his arms crossed over his fat belly, watching him through the monitor.

An unusual feeling spread warmth through his stomach when he saw her fight off a broad smile at that wish. She pushed her glasses back up her pixie like, upturned nose and tried her best not to laugh aloud.

“Some things are just, eternally, beyond our reach, I guess.” She mutters quietly.

”No accounting for taste.” Ren glares solidly at the camera. Making sure Finch heard it, and saw it.

“Time’s up.” Came a short outburst from the heavy set guard stood flanking the door.

Ren watched the prim Ms. Winslow turn her head, her mouth gaping as she blinked prettily at the two plodding guards who came over to release Ren’s shackles. Once again, he watched her like a hawk, rather than paying attention to what was being done to his hands as they were jerked free of the table. She wondered if his wrists hurt with the careless way they handled him. Tugging and pulling his hands about in the cuffs like he was a nerveless piece of meat. She could see the raised red lines or irritation from the harsh cuffs about his pale, thick inked wrists that looked sore.

He could tell she was disappointed. She had hoped for more from him. Her boss would grill her for days about this. He already found her a thorn in his side. Nothing she ever did was good enough. He proofed, edited and slaughtered her articles and writing proposals before he sent them to print. She didn’t like to reckon what he’d do if she’d go back tomorrow empty handed.

“Come see me again.” Came a baritone rumble from opposite the table.

“Up.” One of the guards instructed plainly. Yapping at him like a baying dog.

Evie blinked. Did he just…?

“Kitten.” He growled a crooked smirk in parting, rising to his full towering height again, eyes pinning her down again before he was tugged away. Shackles clanking. Big broad frame filling the door as he moved through it. Out into the hall. And she watched that tall column of orange flanked between two short navy pillars once more before he is out of her sight.

She’d never been more speechless. And somehow, oddly enthusiastic. He’d spent the first ten minutes glaring at her. Terrified her to the bone. Threatened her and made her shiver in her seat.

And still she felt motivated to come to this awful place again, merely by the way he’d growled his little pet name at her.

 

 

~

 

 

It was a few days later, and just gone past noon when a tall man strode his confident way into his corner office. His blushing blonde secretary had just handed him his schedule. And he thanked her with a sultry wink. He hadn’t bedded this one yet. But he was going too, he could tell…

Another warning from HR about interpersonal work relationships lecture was sure to be sent his way as a final warning; that he could easily ignore, just as he had done with the last four.

He strode into his office with all the poise of an Emperor. Surveying the expensive, sleek space he’d worked semi hard to earn. His Brioni suit was flawless. His office was kitted out with some new, showy expensive Italian designers collection. Fresh calla lilies adorned the masterpiece of an art vase on his coffee table, and with the sun filtering through his blinded windows just right, he felt good that today was going to be glorious. As most of his days usually were.

His coffee warming his hands, last nights lovers lipstick he was sure was still smeared its cloying kiss on his neck. And it didn’t hurt that the girl at Starbucks had scrawled her number onto his cup next to his name. He hummed merrily as he crossed to his desk, just as his office phone blared to life. He slung down his cup and answered it. Checking the time on his flawless Panerai watch.

“It’s me.” A gruff greeting came, down the line.

His head shot up. He’d know the baritone match of his relatives voice any day. He smirked.

“He never calls, he never writes…” He chided with his typical grin, leaning back to perch on the edge of his desk.

“I need a favour…” He grunted.

He listened for more that was sure to follow.

“Someone came to see me recently. And I need to know who they are. What they want. I need information and you’re going to get it for me.” They instructed.

“Do you want the usual package of information or something a little…sexier?” He enquired.

“I don’t give a shit. Just come see me with what you know when you find it.”

“I might need some gentle persuading…” Came his playful answer. He didn’t. He just loved riling his twin.

They growled lowly down the other end. How long was it before he crushed the plastic handset to splinters, he wondered?

“Just do it, Ben.” Came a ferocious order. A threat. A promise. And then the line went sharply dead.

Ben Solo put the phone down, lifted his coffee to his lips, and smirked. Today really was destined to be full of surprises after all.

 

 

~

 


	2. Doctors & Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Ben a slut in this fic? well. yes. yes he is....
> 
> Y'all see where I'm headed with this, right? ;)

 

  _One Week Earlier_

 

Ben had to have Armitage Hux from the first second he saw the man.

There wasn’t a man or woman standing whom he couldn’t charm his way into bed with. He was a smooth talker, a lover, not a fighter. A flighty conquest right now would be just the thing to soothe the restlessness, this ache, in his blood. He believed he’d gotten to a point where each shallow one night stand of late, left him feeling more and more unsatisfied after each go.

He could feel the once exciting rush of sex start dissipate quickly after each blonde or brunette bimbo he brought into his bed, or took back to theirs. Or the married ones he fucked to relieve their ill-fated sexless monotony of the person they’d been wed too. 

Even sordid quickies did nothing for him anymore; and they were always fun. Some rough, wordless fuck, up against a back alley wall of a club, or somewhere semi-public to get his blood pumping. 

They had always used to be fun; making bedroom eyes and crooking a smirk at some easy girl was usually all it took; not minutes later he had her dress hitched to her waist and was getting his pussy fix; but now, like most addicts, his routine was quickly fading from being satisfactory. He needed something else. Something more.

In plain parlance, he believes he was experiencing what most normal people called,  _boredom_.

 _Ennui. Tedium._ Whatever the technical term for it applied, insert here. And it was making him fucking agitated.

Unlike his more violent, twin, counterpart, there was some basic form of rehabilitation and treatment for his antisocial personality disorder. Kylo had no hope but to continually be the not very charming, cold way he was. But with the right behavioural or talk therapy, and the right meds to keep some of his conditions in check, Ben had a chance at being semi-normal. 

Whatever fucking pitiful way to live that was.

He’d coped with some substance addiction issues in his early twenties. Aswell as some anger management episodes. He flattered himself he’d conquered that little problem with the odd joint in his office if his colleagues got way too fucking much to handle. He liked his lifestyle just fine.

He was a thirty year old senior financial adviser at one of the best stock broking firms in the city. With a corner office. He had (two) Porsche’s, a ruthlessly expensive Italian wardrobe, a multi-million dollar penthouse, and an expense account. He was richer than god, and hung like one too. That didn’t sound like a bad way to exist in the world.

So this was how he found himself in his current predicament. Sat, bored rigid, in the warmly modern, clean lined, scandi-decorated waiting room.

The softly white washed walls teamed well with the dove grey settees and seats that formed the waiting area. Softened by black and white patterned rugs, with bright medallion yellow accents for a flare of colour. The coffee table is crammed full of niche interior magazines, and there are candles gently burning some subtle delicious hygge scent to infuse into the calm air about the muted space.

Ben flicked his eyes over to the front desk, even the curvy receptionist was dressed to match the room; in a yellow blouse and a long grey pencil skirt. 

He was the only patient now waiting impatiently in the waiting room. She flickered her doe brown eyes up to look across at him. He gave her a slow, sultry assess from head to toe that had her gorgeous caramel skinned cheeks turning rosy pink. She averted her eyes and smiled to herself as she went back to her work.

He could have her if he wanted. He was tempted… but he couldn’t risk anything that would jeopardise yet another doctor.

This was him trying out the third new shrink he’d signed on to see this year. He’d had to quit his first – he slept with that guys wife. Had to call time on the man after he walked in on them using his couch in a way that certainly _wasn’t_ intended. 

The second was plainly un-amusing. She seemed more interested in hounding her well-tread warpath for diagnosing him as a self-obsessed narcissist more than anything else, so she had to go too.

But he’d heard stellar things about Dr. Hux. According to his reviews, he was thoroughly professional, very efficient, and was such a popular clinic that he was booked solid for up to six months in advance.

Ben knew what the subtext of that was; that meant every bored blonde housewife with a love of too many pills, or too much chardonnay went whining to him with their ineffectual problems and he was a kind ear to listen to them and their pitiful dilemmas surrounding their pitiful existence.  

Ben sighed, dropping his head back on the cushion of the sofa behind him. His legs spread open wide to nearly engulf the whole damn two seater to himself. He’d come straight from work.

Really, he’d much prefer to be at home right now, tossing back three fingers of his 50 year old Glenfiddich before indulging in a steaming hot shower to wash away his long day. 

His hair was at an unruly length, and he desperately needed to shave away the stubble surrounding his goatee and dark tache. He was famished too. Aching for a rare filet mignon with sautéed French vegetables, washed down with an entire bottle of Chateau Petrus.

Then he’d text one of his easy lays to come over for a hard-fuck-marathon, yet in the mood he was in, that probably wouldn’t even be satisfying enough for him, before he kicked them out and collapsed on in his super cali-king bed, with his priceless 1200 thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets.

Instead he was here, probably getting approximately two thousand creases in his charcoal Gucci Monaco suit trousers and jacket, and most likely rumpling his once crisp Oxford, duke white shirt, as he slouched on the damn sofa waiting on this goddamn supposed miracle worker…

His eyes cut across the room when he heard a door latch click and he saw the huge grey wood door slowly slide open across the room. Murmuring, gentle voices filled the quiet room from beyond the door frame.

He watched a very obvious trophy housewife sniffling her - cosmetically enhanced - nose into a tissue. 

Her coat folded over her arm, Birkin bag a fixture to the crook of her elbow as she stood teetering in her heels and her too-revealing dress. Blowing noisily into a tissue as she let the Doctor lay a comforting hand on her shoulder as he spoke softly to her. 

She was all a cloud of Chanel perfume and blonde highlights painstakingly woven into her intricate bouffant hairstyle.

She was exactly the kind of shallow, immature, gold-digger that might latch onto a moneyed conquest like Ben… Yet. he wasn’t even _looking_ at her…

He sat up straighter, so quick he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. His libido and appetite whetted... And it wasn’t the only thing of his that had sprung suddenly to attention.

What was that old saying about _feasting_ first with the eyes?

Doctor Hux was quite a sight to behold. 

Tall. Long legs. Leaner than Ben usually preferred, but he made it look fucking _good_. 

He was dressed in a fine Navy suit that made him look expensive it was well cut. Like it had been crafted custom to his body. Which wasn’t implausible. He knew the cut of a Brioni suit when he saw one. 

Short thorns of copper red hair sat well-groomed, pushed back from his gorgeous pale face. He bet that neck would look good with his teeth marks bruising red and purple all over him, and his shoulder blades too. He imagined that back of his was as pale as the rest of him.

Ben wanted this divine beauty spread-eagled out on his bed in front of him as he sunk his teeth into his shoulder blades and fucked him through til next Sunday.

He was wearing retro black glasses too, as if Ben wasn’t having enough trouble visualising him in enough dirty scenarios as it is. Bend that pale body over his desk, grab his hips, slide home, deep, and see how long it took to make his glasses fog up.

Hux comforted the crying housewife and sent her on her way with a reassuring smile, and another handful of tissues to sob into for good measure, and confirmation that he’d see her next week, and with the softest smile of encouragement. 

Ben didn’t watch her go. Tottering away in her excruciatingly tall heels. Swaying her cosmetically filled ass. Off away in a puff of her ridiculous perfume. _Oh no._ He watched Hux.

He leaned forwards, braced his elbows on his wide-spread knees, and wet his lips before he smirked. Smouldering across at the man. Eyeing the hot doctor from head to toe.

He’d barely got one glance at the man, and already he wanted to close in for the kill.

He couldn’t see a wedding ring on that pale hand. Hopefully that meant he didn’t have some perfect, prim girlfriend or lover waiting on him at home, and even if he did, Ben would be sure to send him off home to them – eventually. 

After he’d had _his_ fill of the man, that was.

 

When Ben Solo want’s something? He get’s it.

Hux turned in the doorway, lifting his arm and checking his Prada watch. It was his last client of the day now. As it was running well into the evening. All he really wanted at this point was a glass of robust red wine, some dinner, and his bed.

He glanced up and saw a colossal man waiting for him, practically eye fucking him, across the waiting room.

He felt his cheeks heat up a little with the way the dark haired, tall, frankly gorgeous, man was staring at him. He swallowed and crossed the waiting room to greet his newest patient.

When Ben rose to his feet, slowly, Hux swore he felt his heart stammer pathetically in his chest. He brushed thoughts of that nature away. He was a doctor first. He wouldn’t allow himself to think that way about one of his clients. 

He was one of the best for a reason. He was a professional. He’d been commended time and time again by the Mental Health America board for his transformative work with behavioural therapy.

Somehow that thought seemed to quake in the face of this handsome stranger.

“You must be my eight o’clock. It’s Ben, isn’t it?” Hux asks, offering his hand out. British too. He’d never understood what it was to be an anglophile, but right there, that precise, cut glass voice had him hooked.

He wanted to force obscene things to come out that precise _fucking_ lush mouth.  

“Yes it is.” Ben countered, letting his smile curl up slowly. And gently letting his hand linger a little too long on Hux’s.

“Come on in. We can get started…” He gestures, turning around and walking across to his office space. Ben bit his lip slightly. 

His cologne crested on the air across to him. Something minimal, and decadent. Sandalwood, pine, pepper and spice. He watched him walk too. Watched the suit pull across his back when his arms swung. Watching his suit trousers cling to his well-formed ass.

He is invited to an office that mirrors the design of the waiting room. Clean, grey, ordered and warm. A huge, neat, well kept office space. Hemmed in with pale grey carpets and walls. 

The books on the shelves arranged by colour. And in here too, the warm scented candle perfumed the air of the cosy space. A floor to ceiling window covered the entire wall of one side of the office, showing Ben the light strewn, dark skyline, vista of downtown below them. Spreading out across the horizon. 

The doctor shuts the door after him with a soft click. Ben views the room for a second, taking in the personally decorated space.

Hux reaches across his desk for a file, and encourages Ben toward the deco style, shell backed, velvet grey armchair for him to relax into. 

There was a sofa too, for whom Ben imagined was his more weepy or hysterical clients. A box of tissues perched on the coffee table between the soft chairs. And the shrink awaits…

Ben watched Hux lean back in his chair, diagonally opposite his own, across the room. Folding his long suited legs and letting the folder relax into his lap.

“I see you’ve been referred to me from.. Doctor Wheeler…” Hux read aloud, politely, from his case file. His voice was urging Ben for more information.

“By personal choice. Doctor Wheeler and I couldn’t quite see, eye to eye…” Ben assured him. “I simply didn’t buy into her crusade to diagnose me as a narcissistic asshole.”

Hux’s face was impassive, but he retained his polite tone and concerned expression. He kept his tone soft and empathetic.

“You didn’t agree with that?” Hux asked.

Ben met his eyes.

“I may be many nasty things… Arrogant, maybe. Charming. Cynical. But I’m aware of my own importance in the world. I know where I stand. I’m not idiotic enough to have a grandiose sense of self.” He repeated with venom in his tone.

“I seldom speak ill of my colleagues in the medical health field…” Hux started.

Ben raised an amused brow at the shrink. Hux’s cheeks heat, pinkening under the rim of his glasses. Ben felt his the back of collar grow hot.

“But let me say this; there’s a reason Doctor Wheeler’s walls are devoid of commendation certificates…” Hux speaks lowly.

“That sounds about right.” Ben purred lowly. One arm thrown around the side of the chair as he lounged back in it. 

Moulding his body to the cradle of its shape. He was still giving Hux that ‘look’ that made the gracious doctor shift in his seat.

“Well. I can only say I shall endeavour to be a more capable Shrink than Wheeler…” Hux started.

“Ben I’m not here to try and fit you into a cookie cutter diagnosis at my own behest. I’m here because you present all the symptoms of ASPD, and we both know this, and I am here to help you talk, and sort through whatever problems that may bring to you. That is my role here as your Doctor.” He explained, moving his hands as he talked.

 _“So_. How can I help?” Hux begins.

Ben nods. Averting his eyes to his hand on his thigh, before he looks up. The sheer hunger in those dark, warm russet eyes made Hux gulp.

“Actually. There is something I’d like to discuss…” He spoke up.

Hux put his file away atop his desk intray, and took out his moleskine notebook and mount blanc fountain pen.

“Ok. That’s a great starting point…” Hux smiled, adjusting in his seat.

“It’s rather personal.” Ben warns lowly.

“Personal doesn’t frighten me. We encourage personal in this safe space.” Hux smiles.

“It’s about sex.”

Hux was now about as red as his hair.

“Sex doesn’t frighten me either…” He promised. His mouth was suddenly bone dry and his voice broke on the word. Choking on it. And It was rapidly getting hotter in here.

“I don’t know what it says about me in my file, Doc. But I’m sure there must be some note, or abridgement in there about the nature and frequency of my… sexual proclivity’s.” Ben said. Letting the words hang for a moment in the air.

Hux swallowed again.

“Wheeler wrote, ‘Multiple partners of either gender.’ And before that Dr. Hartmann simply wrote, uhm.…” Hux paused. Smiling and collecting himself. Nervously scratching his forehead and adjusting his glasses. This wasn’t at all professional, he was usually much more put together than this…

“Lothario…” Their eyes met. A spark of sizzling, white hot electricity shot through the otherwise calm room.

Ben smiled that crooked smile. The one that could seduce anyone he wanted it too.

“I’m not ashamed of my sexual tastes…” Ben announced proudly. Confidently. “Not ashamed at the quantity of my lovers either…” He told.

“Nor. Uhm.” Hux cleared his throat before continuing.  “…Should you be. I’m not a councillor here to lecture you about…safe sex, or indeed to uh…” He paused to swallow again.

“..Shame you for enjoying the number of conquests you have had. But it is my job to seek down to the root of the issue as to why you…indulge in engaging in, quite, so many partners…” Inwardly chiding himself to get a grip.

He passed 4 years of medical school for christ’s sake. He wasn’t some giggling adolescent blushing at sex ed. There were six framed commendation certificates proudly pinned to his wall just over his shoulder. So why was he having such an issue treating Ben Solo like any other patient?

The answer; he never before wanted to so savagely kiss any of his other patients. Because right now, he wanted nothing more than to storm across this room and crush his mouth to those full lips and let their bodies do the talking instead…

“Are you saying I can’t control my urges?” Ben asks.

“No. No. No. Not at all. It’s healthy to have… an- uh appetite for safe consensual sex…” Hux tells.

Ben tilts his head. Hux soldiers on. It was becoming increasingly more and more difficult to keep his legs crossed. Whilst Ben sat there bold as brass, legs splayed wide. Uncaring if every, not-so-subtle bit of him was obvious to the gaze. Lords, was he easy on the eyes…

“I don’t know if I’d call all my encounters ‘safe’ exactly…” Ben hints wickedly. “Some of them can border on…well. Let’s just say, wild, and leave it at that.” He explains.

Hux was getting flustered, and they both knew it. Ben was fucking drinking it all in.

“What I was trying to uh-say, was that I’d like to understand, why, you feel the need to have multiple partners. If its an issue of intimacy, or fear of attachment to-“

“That I can answer simply; I like to fuck.” Ben spat out.

Hux’s hand paused over his notebook. Stranded mid-air. Ben heard the man gulp all the way from across the room. When Hux raised his eyes to Bens once more, something hot and prickling shot up his spine like an arrow. His cheeks were definitely pink. His pale green eyes were definitely blown wide.

He blinks, looking down at his notebook. He was lost for words with the images that last sentence naughtily conjured in his brain.

“You married, Doc?” Ben asks. Leaning forwards. Elbows on his knees again. Daring Hux to meet his confident, probing, dominant, gaze.

Hux started to shake his head. Before he bit his lip and reconsidered. This safe space worked on equal trust. And if sharing was required, he’d indulge his client.

“No. I’m-I’m not married.” He answers

“Girlfriend?” Ben seeks.

“Not quite my type, I’m afraid.” He braved.

Ben grinned.

“Boyfriend?” He drawled. Giddiness roaring through his stomach like a flare going off.

“Some very handsome, Adonis looking, muscular blonde waiting on you at home in sweats. Getting your dinner on the table, glass of wine ready? Cute dog waiting on the doormat…” Ben searches.

Hux bit the inside of his lower lip.

“Blondes actually aren’t….” He looked up and got lost in Ben’s seductive gaze. “-my type either…” He tells. “And the only thing waiting for me at home is my cat and an otherwise cold, dark, and depressingly empty flat.”

“Sounds to me like someone’s a lonely workaholic who hasn’t gotten off in months… Waiting patiently to find that certain someone to help scratch that damn itch.” Ben purrs.

“Is that your opinion of me, Ben?” Hux asks. In a professional capacity, of course.

“I recognise the lifestyle.” Ben tells.

 “My little problem of late appears to be that no matter how many men or women I fuck, no matter how many times I cum. Its never satisfying. It’s never enough. Now I know how it feels to have a need, an ache, that so badly needs fulfilling, but nothing seems to be able to cut it.” He tells.

Hux let him talk.

“Or atleast nothing did until I walked in this office, tonight…” He lets out.

Hux dropped his pen. And stumbled quickly to pick it up again. Cheeks blaring with heat he abruptly stood, took off his glasses. Folded them in his hands and walked across to the front of his desk. Bens eyes followed him as he went. Voracious to see the front of the good doctors trousers were severely tented. He was burning up in his suit, and sweat was beading on his brow. He tugged at his collar. But nothing seemed to help.

“I feel I need to mention the words Hippocratic Oath. And uhmm-“ He pants shakily.

Dropping his glasses onto his desk with a clatter. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his hand and rubbing so hard stars burst into supernovas behind his closed eyelids. He was panting and sweating all at once. His head was clouded with lust and the scent of Ben’s cologne and it was all he could do to remain standing he was so turned on. His blood pumping hot through him like molten metal. His stomach searing with nerves and the notion of how fucking disastrous this whole thing was.

“..The fact that this is a completely inappropriate breech of conduct. And that- we-huhh.” He swallowed. And when he opened his eyes and turned to brace himself against his desk, perching there, He saw Ben had come to a stand and had moved closer to be nearer him. Now he stood dangerously within touching distance. Slowly stalking closer. Like a predator.

Hux was babbling. He knew he was. His pulse racing. His head and mouth full of cotton wool. And the look in Ben’s eyes was making him dizzy. Here he was boiling alive, and the goddamned man opposite looked cool as ice.

Ben stepped ever closer, carefully, his hands loosely by his sides. Bedroom eyes fixated on Hux’s stammering red face. He was so worked up. All it would take was a nudge… Poor needy thing probably hadn’t gotten laid in months, he was so jumpy in his own skin. Ben would change that…

“I could get fired from my job and be discredited as a physician. And I should probably mention that if you-we, engage in any, physical-uh, contact that is not within the parameters of my job, I-ah cannot operate any further as your therapist and you’ll have to find someone else who can- accommodate your uhhh…” He broke off with a complete feral moan as Ben stood in front of him now, and one big hand reached over and skimmed the front of his thigh.

Hux could feel the heat of his hand even through his trousers. And those dark, doe, come-fuck-me eyes just flickered across his face and Hux is left silent, panting, watching…

Ben gauges his reaction and steps right up so their pelvises press, deep, into one another’s, caging Hux to his desk. Erections grinding to rub together. Hux groaned. Ben leered  

“Then in that case… You’re not my fucking therapist anymore.” He growls, lightly shaking his head.

Hux pants right onto Bens lips before the man crushes him into the world’s most savage kiss. A completely needy whine leaves Hux’s throat when Ben’s hand grips his cock, roughly palming it through his trousers. Feeling it fill out more at his abrupt treatment.

“And how about I just fuck you over your desk instead, baby?” He growls into Hux’s throat. Leaving one crescent shaped bruise there.

He’d wanted to do that so badly ever since he set eyes on this pale, redheaded creature.

“One thing we didn’t get too about my conquests, Doc.” Ben growls as his hands then sneak under Hux’s undone shirt and pluck at his pretty, ripe, sensitive red nipples.

By this point, Hux is almost draped back over his desk, moaning Ben’s name like a man possessed. Hux looks up at him, eyes wide, cheeks pink. Neck already bruised with dark hickies and wet with Ben’s spit. Hux whined as Ben crouched to his knees. Eye-level with the most beautiful cock he’d been able to get his hands on in a long while.

“I’ve got a slutty fetish for redheads…”

As he was an expert, it took him no time at all to have Hux’s flies down and undone. It took even less time to have Hux’s gorgeous, weeping, long, cock buried down his throat. Hux’s pale hands tangled in his dark hair. Sharp hips rutting into the wet, heavenly, warmth of Ben’s mouth.

He’d have to make a point to come see his shrink more often…

 

 

~

 

 

 

One Week Later

Visitation day was the one time when Ben supposed he could describe the atmosphere of the Silverpine Penitentiary as, busy. There was a hectic energy in the air. Relieving the otherwise tense, miserable place of its usual sun-shine and rainbows demeanour. It hadn’t changed much. Hallways still rung with the distant clamour of inmates and rattling bars, and the clanging of cell doors. Ben was led into the visitation room by a granite faced guard who’d probably never smiled a day in their life.

He saw this room remained its usual sombre, depressing, grey self. Paint peeled on the drab walls. The floor was that ill-looking shade of lino, cracked with canyons of dirt, and years of wear under heavy institution boot treads, and the morose shuffling steps of prisoners. The stout, fixed scratched metal tables gleamed back the harsh, assaulting light cast from the overhead, bare, strip lights. They didn’t have the luxury of the room to themselves today. In the far corner sat a huge, widely set bald guy cuffed to the table talking to a tattooed, scantily dressed woman. The guard directed him to a table, and pointed to it with a crude jab of his finger.

“Wait here…” He commanded. Ben turned in place, hands in his jean pockets. Giving the man a cutting look. The start of a smirk curling at his lips. Even though he was itching to quip back, he kept silent.

He didn’t appreciate being rudely and gruffly manoeuvred about like he was an idiot. God knows how Kylo had managed to refrain from killing every single, last one of them if this was the way it felt to be treated like an imbecilic object at every turn. 

He felt his snarky temper rise to the surface. He tensed his shoulders, squaring them as he stood side on, derisively eyeing his discourteous guide.

He probably spent more money in one day than this guard earned in an entire month. He wasn’t in one of his flawless suits today. He wasn’t wasting fine tailoring on this fucking sloppy place. Even if he was visiting family. He kept his look simply to his dark, expensive boss jeans. His heavy calf skin boots, a crisp button down shirt that he can remember cost more than his car, and his softer-than-butter, Burberry lambskin bomber jacket. His big broad frame dripping money and class. Maybe that’s why the guard hated him so much. That thought made him smirk.

Ben turned away and eased himself into the chair and made himself perfectly at home. One knee bent up, ankle resting on his opposite bent knee. His back was stiff as a board and he’d be surprised if he got even an hours sleep.

He’d had Hux every which way in bed last night. He was damned sure the sun started to rise before he was through with his thorough use of his gorgeous lean redhead. As evident by the tender scratches he could feel from Hux’s nails digging, clutching, deep into him for most of the night. They’d been on one another all night since dinner ended.

Hux had surprised him with a home cooked meal. Ben had repaid him by spreading him back on his dining table and having a feast of his own. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d cum last night. Pretty sure it might have slipped into double digits. But all he knew was that as he slipped out of bed at dawn, leaving Hux prostrate, dead to the world, wrapped up in the cum stained and soaked sheets, the ache in Ben’s stomach and libido had finally been set right.

All it took was finding the right outlet. And what better than a pale as sin, beautiful, proper, redhead with a perfect ass and a gorgeous dick?

He idly tapped his foot and waited on his appointment time. Turns out, he didn’t have to wait long. In a shuffle of clanging shackles and slow treads, he tilts his head at the sight of his twin being coerced into the room. With the same double escort as usual.

Kylo’s face makes no reckoning to acknowledge Ben’s presence. Ben watches those jet black irises  that very closely mirrored his own, sweep across his smirking face. He had always thought there were discernible differences between them. To outsiders, strangers, of course, they could never be told apart. But Ben always harboured the idea that where his own eyes were a deep russet, burnt brown, that Kylo’s eyes were an almost intense shade of jet black.

The door clangs, feet shuffle, cuffs clank all the more, and then his immense brother is in the chair opposite. He’d gotten completely enormous since Ben saw him last. Full well knowing the man would’ve thrown himself head first into his fitness routine. There was fuck-all else to focus on in here after all. His biceps and forearms were trunks, his thighs were wider and stronger than he’d ever seen them. He was willing to bet Kylo didn’t let an ounce of fat stick to his stacked, massive torso either. Though he didn’t do it out of vanity.

He’d always been big. But being in here had toughed his already crude, rough exterior to something even more deadly than the Killer they’d locked up years ago. Kylo didn’t hold his body in any sort of esteem. The pain of his incessant workout was nothing to him. He didn’t even feel it. He was one big tattooed up scar, as far as he was concerned. An opus that had been carved into with a thick, mean knife. He didn’t particularly give a single damn about any godforsaken part of himself.

“How’s things?” Ben chirped sunnily.

“My, my, don’t you look orange…” He quipped at his brother. He couldn’t make a sarccy comment at the guard. So he’d take it out on Kylo instead.

Kylo glared a look at him so piercing, it could rival the worlds sharpest dagger. His faithful entourage were busily shackling his hands to the table. Ben was lucky they’d just finished securing his wrists in place.

Kylo remained silent until they had shackled him in and slid away. Flanking the door like two solid navy columns. Kylo titled a look lightly across his shoulder, seeing they were impassively stood. Idly conversing. Not paying attention to either of the convicts in the room, or their visitors.

“Glad to see you haven’t changed at all.” Kylo finally lets out. A hint of bone dry irony rolling in waves off that deep rumble of a voice. Bens and Kylo’s personalities had always grated so against one another’s.

“I’m pleased to see you’re still so perceptive with the mushy familial stuff. I’d give you a hug, Shawshank. But I think, sadly, its frowned upon.” Ben mocked.

Kylo narrowed his eyes at Ben’s witty nickname for him.

He was hunched over in his seat, his shoulders arcing as he braced his forearms on the silver tables surface. He looked like a coiled viper, ready to strike. But then that sensation was nothing new, he was constantly on edge in here. It was how he lived. How he survived. In this prison, he had to be was constantly ready for anything to kick off at any moment. Night and day Kylo lived, slept, walked, ate and breathed with underlying caution. He’d spent these long four years perched on a razors edge, and to say he was sick of it was a gross an understatement as any. It had started to mould into him now. To shape the already stoic facets of his cold, steely character.

Kylo had always been the one to quietly brood, or glare. Whereas Ben’s role was to natter away the silences… so he did.

“How many years has it been since I saw you now? What? Two-“ Ben asked.

“Three.” Kylo cut him off stiffly.

Ben nods. “Yes... I don’t know how I’ve stayed away…” He proclaims. Looking around at the peeling, shabby room with disdain.

The words felt odd in his mouth. His roughhewn mouth that was so used to spitting, barking and growling threats at people to back the hell off or get out of his way. He could feel his teeth hesitate, crunching, on the words he rarely ever used. Polite words. Words of concern.

Kylo says them anyway;

“How have you been? Still sleeping with anything with a pulse I presume?” He asks.

Ben leers a grin.

“Actually, I’ve just landed a huge account at work. And I’ve recently started fucking my shrink…” Ben tells proudly. That smug-solo-smile on his lips.

Some things really do never change. Kylo discerns as he rolls his eyes. Predictable, nearly.

“So typical of you, Ben. What? Was your lawyer not available?” Kylo remarks.

“No. He’s just not hot.” He answers, almost offended, arms crossed over his chest. Kylo had long ago stopped being surprised at the measures his brother would go to, merely to seduce someone.

“Speaking of…” Ben started. Fixing Kylo with a confident, lazy grin. “I did that little favour you asked me for.” He pipes up.

Kylo lifts his head. His way of asserting his renewed interest.

“And?” He asks impatiently.

“Honestly. I don’t think this little piece of yours is gonna bring you any sort of trouble…” Ben predicts. Kylo watches his twins face very carefully. There was more there we wasn’t letting loose. He could tell. Kylo had come into this world a mere minute before Ben. He knew his brother perhaps better than he knew himself.

“Spit it out, Ben.” Kylo demands. Whatever it is you’re not saying, he thinks.

Ben leans even closer, or as close as he can get. Dropping his voice to a husking whisper. Making sure the microphone suspended above them wouldn’t catch what he was about to say.

“Truthfully Kylo? I know you want to find some sort of sordid secret intention about this. But there’s none to give. Just a pretty mundane, sheltered writer doing what her boss has asked of her. She’s been to Kingwood Correctional, the ADX upstate, and now here. She talks to inmates. Gathers their stories. My source at Ashgate told me she even still writes letters to convicts who’ve assisted her. She even left gifts for one guy after he got out. She’s written crime books in the past, but as far as I can tell, she’s never interviewed someone of your calibre before.” He tells him.

If Kylo was surprised, he didn’t show it.

So. The timid little librarian, Ms Winslow, had no agenda other than genuinely wanting some answers from him… 

He wondered briefly if she’d come back to see him as he’d asked. He hoped she would. He had seen that fascinated yet terrified glimmer in her eyes. And if it was for work, then a little flicker of something delighted low in his belly told him he’d see that sweet, angelic face again.

“Anything else about her?” He asks

“Your basics. Local. Born here. Went to school here. Grade A+ student. Got her degree and then her masters from Penn State, in English Lit and Photojournalism…” Ben sucked in a breath, trying to remember what else he’d been able to dig up.

Kylo’s grin tipped up at the corner. Writer my ass, Winslow, he thought as his grin curled.

“She’s worked for the publishing house since she graduated. Quiet life. Single. No pets. She’s a sheltered little thing. Clean credit score. Spotless. Not even so much as a parking ticket. No unpaid bills. Pays $300 a month for a three bed, family sized cabin in the woods left to her in her relatives will. Drives a cheap second hand car. ISA. Hefty pot of savings… she sure as hell ain’t short a pretty penny or two, but by no means a Rockefeller. She seems comfortable. Lives within her means.” Ben describes.

That sounded like her, Kylo had to admit. Safe. Cosy. Never changing. Always staying still. Each day predictable and the same. In part he’d come to understand what that was like.

Somehow it made his calcified heart harden over. His mind flickered, for the briefest of seconds to sadness for her. Weren’t people outside this shitty place supposed to have rich, full, brimming lives? Go and see a russet red Italian sunset over the hills in Tuscany. Drink red wine on a wobbly table, in a tiny café, tucked away on a cobbled street, on some late Parisian afternoon, and dance in every Jazz club in the city until the stars came out. Roast for a week on a tropical spit of sand in the salty pale, Indian ocean.

He dreamt of being anywhere but trapped in here.

He thought in envy of everyone who could come and go as they pleased. At night, in his cell, over and over again he replayed memories to help him get by. That one time he went to Vienna for work, years ago.  Stayed in a five star hotel in the historic part of the city and just wandered around all the cold night drinking the sights in. Kisses from his ex-lover where he could still feel their petal soft lips against his. The smell of their perfume. Feel their silken soft hair running through his fingers. The memory as a kid of sand between his toes. Jumping into an ice cold lake off the jetty at the end of the families lake cabin.

Oddly, he felt something else rage in his blood too, when it came to Ms. Winslow. He felt… cheated, for her sake. He couldn’t imagine his life without all the little touches that made it luxurious. His $8,000 suits. His Aston – he swore now if Ben had so much as touched his car whilst he was in here, he was gonna have to turn him inside out and wind his entrails round his neck. He missed the view of a dusky morning from his one of a kind apartment, up in the hills. Better than the stale view of the same four, drab, brick walls each morning. That was for sure.

Right then he thought about what it would feel like to spoil her rotten. Dress her up in jewels, heels and designer dresses.

Or maybe in just the jewels and heels…

Put her in a 136 carat Harry Winston wreath, and Laboutins. Watch her wearing half a million dollars’ worth of luxury and see how that compared to her fucking hum-drum safeness.

It was killing him imagining that soft, small body under that fucking ratty cardigan. And god, was that was a thought that tortured his mind when he was in his bunk at night.

The harder he tries to imagine his exes, he finds he can’t. They’ve been replaced. With her. That honeysuckle perfume he smelt the other day. Filling up his senses when he walked into the room. The way she bit her lip. How her cheeks blushed the sweetest pink. He’d watched it. Watched it flourish down her milky collarbone when he made her all scared and flustered. He was willing to bet her skin was as soft as a pat of butter. He imagined what it would be like to lick the sweet honey that dripped slick from her pussy. Oh, he was willing to bet she was soft as hell, sweet and silky wet, between her legs too.

That particular wish had been keeping him hard for this entire week.

Keeping his hard on relentlessly pressed up against the confines of his scrubs when he found himself alone at night. He was barely back from yard time yesterday when he’d only just managed to get his cell door shut behind him. He was dripping sweat, sticky from his workout, flushed cheeks. Hair tacky on his neck.

And he was in agony.

He tore his own clothes off, licked a stripe down his palm, reached into his pants, and wrapped his fingers around his erection. He moaned like a desperate slut. He bet her tiny hands would struggle to get around him. And she certainly would find it hard to get that rosy mouth over the head of his dick. 

He then proceeded to beat his cock senseless til he came with a growling moan in a massive spurt all across his own chest. He came over his torso and fingers thinking about gripping her hair in his hand and making her gag to try and swallow his impressive cock down her throat.

He watched his cum drip off him that night. And what waste that was... 

He should’ve spent it in Ms. Winslow’s perfect pink pussy. He’d have both those thighs gripped, spread in his hands and watch it drool out. Oh, he wouldn’t have that either. He’d fuck it back into its rightful place with two fingers.

What was this girl doing to him? Making him needy. Horny. Aching to see her again. His muse. His Kitten.

“She’s what you might call shy and understated. I know that might be hard for you to grasp…” Kylo ribs at his brother.

Ben smiles at Kylo’s quip. “Ouch.”

“Besides. I saved the best til last… I managed to hack into her emails.” Ben eyes glittered.

Kylo’s eyes glimmered distantly with intrigue. Impatience. He knew Ben was good for something.

“Her boss, who I would say is somewhat of a sadistic asshole, is persistently goading her for more details on you. He’s practically bullying her to come see you again for the memoir series…”

Kylo’s shackles shook where he clenched his fists on the table. The thought of some faceless suit bullying her into anything made his temper flare up. His jaw grit tight too. So tight, the veins burst out suddenly in his neck.

Ben watched the shade pass over his brothers expression like a cloud passing across a beam of sunshine.

“Easy…” Ben warns.

“He’s threatening her over me?” He snarls.

“Boy. If you don’t like this, you’re really not gonna like what other personal details I uncovered…” Ben warns

“Tell me.” Kylo snaps. Shackles creating a harsh shriek that made the guards look over. Kylo’s haunches were up now. He was nearly panting, flirting closely with the edge of rage.

Ben wets his lips.

“Her ex, actually. Turns out he is a typical frat boy, trust fund, chad, who let’s just say is…. about as exclusive with his partners as I am with mine.” Ben tells.

Kylo bit the inside of his cheek so hard. He almost broke the skin of his mouth. Almost tasted that sour copper and hot penny metal of blood filling his tongue. His eyes were black ice by this point.

“She’s blocked him by phone. But he keeps cropping up in her emails trying to get in touch.” Ben says dimly.

Red mist was now filtering into the upper half of Kylo’s vision. Between the nightmare boss and the douche ex ragging on her. He wanted to tear some limbs off bodies, and feel some blood spraying across his face.

Then, Kylo Ren made a decision that would significantly alter the path of his life… And he made it based off the ache he could feel starting to stir in his cavernous chest.

“All.”

“What?” Ben cocked his head. Leaning in closer.

“I want it all. All you can get me on her. Get it to me…” He demands. Muscles bulging, veins straining. His hackles were up and he wanted one thing only; More of his kitten.

 

~

 

Evie sat that night, at her desk, going through her, frankly unimpressive notes on Kylo. It was a mild summers night. Her window opposite her desk was open and he could smell the wild, earthy scents of her garden spilling in over the windowsill. Lilacs, Lavender, and Hyacinths. Being bought in on a gust of cool night air. She shrugged her cardigan up over her shoulder, against her bare skin where it had slipped down. Folding her arms across her chilly self.

She was scented of lavender lotion from her hot bath, Sipping her glass of fancy $7 red wine she’d picked up from the grocery store on the way home. Now, she was going through her work emails. Dressed in her favourite cardigan, baby blue vest, and cotton pyjama bottoms that were well-worn, and well-loved. She’d stitched up the worn holes in the knees herself more times than she could count. Her cosiest pair of woollen, cable knit socks were on her feet.

She tucked her softly washed hair behind one ear and sighed as she re-read all the demanding emails from her boss. Pushing her to cut down her crime memoirs deadline. He wanted her to get more from Kylo, otherwise he’d threatened to take her off the project.

Sometimes she wondered if he hated her meekness, or merely her gender. The guys in her office always seemed to be hand-delivered the juicer stories.

Sometimes she thought her boss was being an unfair jerk. But she kept that thought to herself. She was just ready to sign off and call it a night. Her embroidered quilts on her big fluffy bed was calling her, along with a good browse of her favourite Julia Quinn paperback before she went to sleep.

One more email pinged through from her boss; with a strict warning, yet again, about the deadline and the need for Kylo’s memoirs. As much information for the profile as she could get. And then came a real surprise; there were contact details; a secretary's phone number, and and an email, for good measure.

Kylo Ren had a twin?

She grabbed her biro and jotted down the digits belonging to one… Ben Solo. She sent a reply to her boss that she’d get in touch tomorrow.

What she didn’t know was that across town, at the same time, lounging in front of his roaring fireplace, phone in hand, email app open, having just clicked 'send.' A celebratory glass of well-aged Glenfiddich in his hand. He sat there like a sly fox in an old fable;

“Come get me, Gorgeous…” He mumbled with a grin. Letting the taste of his drink spread sweetly over his tongue.

Oh. How he couldn’t wait.

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the stalking and schmoozing commence...


	3. Writers & Rascals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben. Is. A. Schmoozy. Hurricane.

 

 

Evie didn’t need to be told of the calibre of the office she’d stepped into. The offices of Hargreaves Lansdowne & Lowe let her know instantly of the high profile nature of the exceedingly _rich_ , blue-blooded corporation. The lobby was an amalgamation of towering glass and stainless steel. The floor composed of taupe, sleek marble that rattled off a tattling echo of every foot-tread that crossed it. The back wall of the foyer was a warm, walnut tile marbled with blue and silver. The reception desk is an indomitably huge black block taking up a vast quantity of the posh space, each end of it crowned with red and white arrangements of saffron crocus’s, calla lilies’ and orchids that she imagines is twice her height and costing more than her pay check. The desk was squared strategically opposite the revolving door entrances, squat slabs of black sofas are sparsely dotted with the odd white collared worker gabbling into a phone or with their eyes glued to tablet screens before them.

Evie totters slowly over to the desk, to receive a stony look from a snowy pale receptionist with severely elegant cheekbones. Her lips a violent slash of tulip red, her toffee hair silkily piled into a side arrangement. Complex silver accessories dripped from her lobes to her shoulders. Her poky, sharp shoulders made more boxy by the complex Armani tux she wore. Accented with blouse sporting an oversized bow that on anyone else would have softened her appearance. She suspects the reason for the woman’s taciturn glare was due to the fact that she slightly resembled a straggled drowned rat.

She’d taken an Uber here from the office, but the grid of traffic threatened to make her rudely late. So she made a _dash_ for it from a couple of blocks down. The skies had opened an hour prior and she had dodged under awnings and done anything to keep semi-dry, and she had been almost successful. But her dark grey pinafore dress gave away the streaks of water that had been spattered down her as did the slight squelch of her cheap black work heels. Her navy cardigan clad shoulders felt a touch damp, as was doubtless the white blouse she had on underneath her dress. Her hair that she’d pinned back this morning now drooped a fair bit, straggled ends beaded and dark with rain. Her glasses fogged, so she tore them off and clutched them as she approached the desk, praying her simple makeup hadn’t run too much. And that her cold, red nose wasn’t dripping.

She didn’t dare touch the polished surface of the desk as she stood meekly, and timidly stated her purpose to the flawless Chanel mannequin opposite. The woman said nothing as she tapped a number into a phone and gave a very curt response to the other end. When she spoke Evie heard a Baltic or European lilt that beautifully caressed and rolled her voice. “Take a seat.” She orders in a detached voice.

Evie thanks her and slid away, taking up residence nearby on one of the gigantic chunks of leather settees. She shuddered as she walked, pulling her cardigan sleeves up to her knuckles. The cool air in the lobby was starting to creep into her skin. She nudged one foot against the other with disdain. Not only were her shoes wet, but they were scuffed and peeling on one toe. As if she needed reminding of _how shabby_ she was in comparison to the polished, glittering, refined people that this place was used to welcoming into its ranks. She tries quickly tucking up the worst wet strands of her hair, stuffs her soaked cardigan deep down in her bag. Taking out her notebook and pen in readiness for the interview. She tucks one ankle behind the other and folds back one misbehaving curl of hair behind her ear. Flipping through her notebook for a distraction as she waited. She became aware of a presence awaiting her attention when the clack of heels sounded nearer and nearer in her direction. She looks up when a fawning voice confirms her name.

“Ms. Winslow?” Chirped a greeting. Evie peers up to see who she presumes to be a secretary expectantly hovering near her. She looked like she belonged here. A precision cut blonde bob and  bluntly executed fringe framed her angular, made up face. Long lashes spilled across her cheeks. And gold silk spilled across her shoulders. Stretched across her toned body is a long beige pencil skirt that defines her hips and mile-long legs. Big gold bracelets clatter on her wrists, and her bust is framed by a tight peacock blue sweater. Daggering and expensive teal, crocodile skin heels make her taller, even more intimidating. Evie clumsily gathered her things and stumbled after the sun gold goddess who’d been sent to fetch her. A drift of expensive jasmine shampoo fluttering in her wake. She walks her through silver security turnstiles and takes her into a lift which swiftly climbs through the floors.

Evie attempts small talk when the blonde side eyes her appearance. “What _a day_ to forget my umbrella…” She smiles shyly. The secretary merely blinks the two huge spidery fans of eyelashes to her once more. Before she turns back to watch the lift soar through the floors of the building.

Evie nervously clutches her notebook in clammy hands as they exit onto a modern office space. Weaving past cubicles and offices. Up here, the clacks of the goddesses deadly heels were slaughtered on the thick carpet underfoot. The big open bull-pen here seems calmer than the one at the publishing office. Plus, the smell of stale coffee, printing ink and newspaper didn’t seem to hang in the air like it did in her workplace.

The goddess brings them both to a corner of the building. A huge slab of a frosted glass door before them. A huge wall of it signalling the vastness of the office within. Her clanging knock ruptures on the door, and a deep voice from beyond bids her entry. Evie was amazed to see the granite faced deity let a winning, flirty smile split her cherry red lips when she opened the door and chirruped sweetly;

“Your _two o’clock_ is here…” She sunnily informs the room before her.

Evie swallows nervously and steps past the doors threshold. _Into the lions den…_ She gingerly steps into the office and raises her eyes to meet his occupant. She wishes now that she’d put on a nicer dress, and slightly less _falling-apart-_ heels. Ben Solo was just as all-consuming as that of his convicted twin. If it weren’t for the inkless skin, she would have assumed she was looking at the same man; deep eyes, broad, soft lips, pale skin pocked with moles; and a crooked smile that was just as _dangerous_ as his twins.

That same handsome face, except where Kylo was clean shaven and scarred, Ben was sporting a tache and goatee, and his hair was shorter, less wild. Kylo appeared more untamed. But Ben seemed altogether more roguish. Evie stepped past the sun goddess, twisting her head to offer her a small thanks. The woman assessed her as if she’d just offered her up some mangled road-kill. She fluttered her eyes and interested across to her boss instead.

“Do you need anything Mr. Solo? _Coffee? Tea?”_ She asks sweetly. She turns her graceful blonde head across to Evie and her eyes turn acidic.

 _“Towel?”_ She mocks, batting the lengthy semi-circle of lashes attached to her eyelids, raising one wheaten gold, professionally shaped brow in derision. Evie feels her cheeks heat and her spine prickle with embarrassment and shame.

“I’m airing out _just fine_ , thanks.” Evie mumbles in her defence. Hair tucking again. _Her nervous little twitch._

“ _Nothing_ , Thankyou Helen.” Ben drawls deeply, dismissing her with a winning smile, before he stands to rise from the comfort of his Riviere desk chair.

  _Evie fought off a smirk at her own little quip inside her head about how appropriate his secretary’s name was._

He rounded his desk and in doing so, allowed Evie to catch a glimpse of the entirety of the man she was dealing with. First of all; he simply _oozed_ money. Todays suit was his much beloved black Tom Ford mohair paired with a Westwood poplin shirt. Peak lapels and a double breasted fastening. A luxurious blend of fabric, well cut to suit his big body. He wasn’t quite as humongous as Kylo. He was slightly less broad in build, but still enough to be overpoweringly large. His shoes screamed tasteful Italian designer and when he buttoned his suit, she saw a huge strap of silver linking around his wrist to be a flawless Bvlgari watch. The man was kitted out in more money than she’d see in her entire lifetime.

She stepped forwards and juggled her notebook and pen into her free hand so she could step toe to toe with this handsome titan. The wall of muscle, man and good suit moved towards her, leisurely taking his time as he strode. _So, this was little Ms. Winslow…_

He honestly didn’t know what to expect of her. He’d gained a great portion of information about most of her life so far, but boring, straight-laced things like her income, details about her job, her social security number. Bland stuff. He wanted something altogether more juicer, and now he’d seen that this meek little writer was wrapped up in a gorgeous, timid package, he wanted to unwrap _every_ piece. _He wanted to delve into the layers of those boring work clothes, take her hair down, and see what submissive, docile beauty hid within_.

There was no doubting _why_ Kylo was attracted to her; she was soft on the eyes underneath all that shapeless fabric. When she stepped forwards he watched it cling to the hips and ass that were criminally kept captive under their formal, grey, workwear, prison. He watched how her chest rose when she turned to meekly reply to his bitchy secretary’s comment. Her breasts looked full and rounded. Only under a restrictive tunic dress and blouse it was hard to make out more. Her sweet, angelic face was gorgeous too, and luckily for him there weren’t many ways she could hide it from him. Her beauty was less striking than girls who usually snagged his interest, but she was certainly _no less_ appealing. She had kissable lips and a rosebud pink smile. Her eyes were the colour of a shaded ocean, and it made him smile to see how her chestnut reddish hair was held out of her face with a chunky, vintage hairclip, in an arrangement that must’ve taken mere seconds to accomplish. He curled a smirk at the fact that her hair was still dotted with rain.

She stood firm even with the wall of muscle and man, whose smirk, it had to be said, was making her sweat behind the collar. She could scent a masculine drift of cologne as he drew near too. _White pine, Juniper and cranberry._ For a hint of sweetness.

“Thankyou so much for agreeing to see me, Mr. Solo. I won’t take up _too_ much of your time. I appreciate this is a chunk of time out your day...” Evie smiles meekly. Extending her hand toward him for a handshake.

Ben considers her.

 

 

_Oh yes_. He see’s what he knew Kylo had seen in her. Ms. Winslow would look _so_ sweet and so good, when she was _utterly debauched._

_Sweaty. Flushed. Hair tacky and loose. Skirt hitched over her plump ass and thighs. Blouse torn open showing her world class tits. Nipples erect, nipped a sore red from his teeth, and wet from his mouth. That gentle face pinched in pleasure. The crowning glory being him between her thighs, face first in her where she was tight, pink and wet. His tongue curled deep in her tasty pussy making her cream and come apart again, again and again...._

His warm cocoa eyes zipped down to her offered hand. His smile lifts. He reaches one huge hand forwards, and brings it under hers...

He was Ben Solo. Dame Tamer. He’s not going to opt for stuffy, formal handshake.

Her pulse races and her heart slams up into the prison of her rib cage when he lifts her delicate hand up and swoops down to _kiss_ the top of her hand.

_“Oh.”_ Evie couldn’t help but let loose a weakly pathetic sigh when she felt that smirk press gently down onto her skin. Her entire arm shot with fizzing nerves that shot through her spine, pooling in her stomach. Reminding her that it had been a long time since a man’s mouth had been on her.

_It had been a criminally long time since she’d had a man’s anything near her._

Ben’s eyes shot up to hers when he heard her sigh. His mouth pulled gently away from her hand. When his thumb absently stroked across her knuckles. She really did think she was part way to combusting. Her cheeks felt hot enough for her to know they were probably _glaring_ pink.

“Baby, you can take up my _whole day_...” He flirts. He retracts his hand when she gently slides hers away and blushes harder. Self consciously examining her shoes.

“That’s... _uh_ very accommodating of you. Mr. Solo. But. Really, just half an hour over coffee would do. I honestly only want some minor details about your brothers case...” She insists.

“And you can drop the Mr. Solo. That makes me sound formal and stuffy; two things of which I most definitely am _not_. Just Ben will do...” He purrs. Stuffing his hands into his suit pockets. The fabric there abouts _straining_ for dear life.

“Evie.” She tells him.

“That’d be short for _Evelyn_ I assume?” He probes suavely. _Asking as if he didn’t already know._

She blinks. Her lips part and her mouth gapes. She can’t remember the last time someone had asked her that.

“ _Uh-m_. My mother, for all her virtues, adored 20’s cinema. She watched them end to end on bed rest when she was pregnant with me. And named me after Evelyn Brent because she loved the film ‘Midnight Molly.’” Evie babbles. Recognising she was doing so.

“Sorry. _Uhm_. I shouldn’t bore you til I start my questions...” She quips gently. A wide smile breaking her once frail, nervous exterior.

Ben’s crotch tightened when he saw her smile.

“Oh I sincerely doubt you could ever bore me. Gorgeous...” He smiles. “And about this coffee thing?” He adds...

Evie raises her brows in polite questioning.

“Let’s skip that... go straight for lunch instead. You can tell me more about your writing and ask me limitless questions over Maison Novelli’s finest bottle of white Riesling. And may I say that the pan fried scallops with parsnip purée, and asparagus wrapped pancetta is to _die_ for...” He winks at her. Striding across to the door.

Evie fought off a gulp again. Maison Novelli was one of the most luxurious, _expensive_ restaurants in the city. Three Michelin stars proudly crowned its entryway. And its reputation for flawless haute cuisine was legendary. She’d never even step foot in a place like that before. She’s more at home fixing something up in her family kitchen. High class wining and dining, and dishes crafted to be sheer masterpieces was thoroughly _out_ of her depth. _She’d be surprised if they allowed her through the doors._

She stood stumbling and blinking. He held open the door wide for her.

“After you. _Evie_...” He smiles. Gesturing. Eyeing her up. _Flirting_.

She eventually kicks her brain into gear and encourages her legs to step forwards. She steps across to his doorway. Now noticing a set of Porsche car keys dangle from his big fingers.

“My _treat_.” He purrs when she is within touching distance of him. That cologne of his reeling her in once again. And the way he towers over her with such suaveness is _intoxicating_. She finds herself holding her breath.

She is lost for words. And equally more so when she feels that big hand pressed to her lower back as they walk along. Her cheeks heat. _Again_. And she bites the inside of her lip.

More so because she feels the goddesses eyes _stab_ into her back as they walk away. Her stomach fizzing with nerves.

And she knew the _root_ of that problem was traced indubitably to the giant man whose hand was _on_  her dress.

 

~

 

 

Maison Novelli was situated in the rich district of town, the red bricked building stood proud and elegant on the street corner. The air was heavy and wet with fallen rain, tainting the air with a cool mugginess. The blossom trees that lined the sidewalk sprouted a sweet fragrance that mashed with the grimy smell of dirt and traffic that spewed off the sheening wet road. Sun had just started to chip through the immensity of leaden grey storm clouds that perched readily on the horizon.

Evie felt a spark of joy warming her stomach through when she considered how her once boring day was turning out to be a rather more adventurous one; Ben was as entertaining as he was charming. She’d lost count of the number of times he made her laugh and smile as they drove along. His open window ruffled his mane of inky hair, black designer shades slipped on. A flush crept up her neck when she watched his smiling profile break out into a toothy grin at one of her quiet quips. Wrinkling his eyes, dimpling those mole marked cheeks. The way the sun through the window caught the faintest hint of russet in his wavy hair. She lost her _breath._ She’d never before encountered a man she could call _so_ thoroughly stunning in looks.

_What’s worse, was that he appeared to know it too._

She sat so primly in the leather car seat, her hands folded demurely in her lap, clutching her bag like a goddamn _Nun._ That was worlds away from how girls usually acted when he got them in this flashy sports car. Others did everything possible to display their bodies any which way they could. They’d reach a taloned, manicured hand across to stroke his thigh, or his dick, as he drove. They’d coo filthy things in his ear as he tried to concentrate on the road ahead. More girls had slipped their panties to their ankles in that car seat than he could count. and yet, she seemed to just look at the world outside as it passed them by. _She really was a shy, sheltered little thing. It was irresistible._

It made him yearn to teach her, show her. _Ruin her_. Ruin her so goddamn good she’d never know how to cry out another mans name in her life, ever again.

He sure as hell managed to flicker a look across at how her shapely legs stretched out, knee’s conservatively clasped together before her. _God help him, it made him want to be between them. His hands ached to caress those rounded, soft thighs. And he couldn’t help but wonder how those legs would look so fucking good crossed at his lower back as he rutted and pumped into her like a maniac…_ He had to shift his hips awkwardly in his seat before anything _arose_ due to that wicked little daydream.

As luck would have it, just as they roared down fifth, a spot opened up right across the street to Novelli. Ben swung the car in, and shut it off with effortless ease. He bounded out, and around to help her with her door, but she was already half-way out. Slipping her satchel strap on her shoulder and carefully shutting the door. Ben curled a smirk up at her that she couldn’t decipher the meaning of, if her life had _depended_ on it. _A refreshing change from the usual shitty diva attitudes he had to contend with._ He guided his hand to her lower back once again and they strode quickly across the street. There was no need for him to open the door for her, as it was swung open by a very snappily dressed maître d, before their toes even _touched_ open the threshold.

Ben breezes them into the posh atmosphere of the place, his hand still gently cupping her back. _She wasn’t complaining._ They both step into the pristine atmosphere of the restaurant. The air fragrant with some lingering, peppery spice, some rich dish that smelled amazing, and the fine scent of linen. The glass door out front was flanked with two bay trees strung with string lights that gave it a touch of finesse, but inside, Evie could see there was refinement by the _bucketful_. She had been expecting a overly stuffy place, vaulted ceilings, black tie waiters, a ballroom of a building hemmed in with chandeliers galore, with ice white touches on everything. And one had to have a working knowledge of _several_ language’s just to translate the menu. She certainly wasn’t expecting what was facing her. It was historic, rustic and _warm_.

A vintage Victorian tile floor mingled well with the off white tiled and trimmed walls. The chairs and tables were all a deep shade of rich walnut. Dark wooden touches flanked the walls. Old clocks, age crusted photo frames. The Bar was the entire back wall, smothered in antique mirrors of all sizes. Instead of chandeliers, they’d opted for several giant metal circles with the lights suspended below shaded out of old, upturned whisky decanters. The crystals shattering the light around the warm white ceiling. She had expected a guy like Ben to bring her to some old-money haunt, frequented by his company higher ups and bigwigs of the city. Instead the place was deco almost, and instantly seemed a lot more relaxed than any haute cuisine place she’d heard of.

The well-groomed host greets Ben with affectionate recognition. An elder man, in a spotless grey suit and navy tie, with neat black hair, and artfully shaved stubble. His bronzed skin and Mediterranean dialect sounded uniquely Italian, and the warmth and depth of his friendliness confirmed it. He clasped hands with Ben and his smile was dazzling white. When he moved Evie scented the perfume of him. Lime and Bay. It had an almost feminine lilt to it, but it was one of those scents she found she simply wanted to bury herself in. Like everything about Novelli, it was _gorgeous_.

“Your usual table for you and your _lovely signorina_ , Mr. Solo?” He asks kindly.

“Si.” Ben smirks back. Shooting Evie a wink that earned another nervous hair tuck from her. Set her cheeks to blush too.

They are led to a quiet, well set table for two. The bar just behind them, the fairly busy place abuzz with chatter and some ancient twinkling jazz is softly crooning through the speakers. Filling the air with easiness to compliment the casual space. Ben looms over her as he holds the seat out for her, she is shamefully aware of the heat of him at her back. Stood so close she can feel and scent him. She thanks him with rosy cheeks and a shy smile. When she turned her head his eyes focused on the nape of her neck peeking through her hair. A drift of honeysuckle and lavender reaches his nose, _and god, nothing_ has ever smelled so good on earth to him before than the gentle scent _of her_. He swallows and crosses to his own seat, taking his menu off the friendly host as he sunk into the plush comfort of the leather chair.

“You come here often?” Evie asks, inferring as to his familiarity with the host. She spoke as she folded her linen napkin across her lap. One ankle behind the other, leaning forwards in the comfort of the chair. Fiddling idly with what Ben just noticed was a small silver locket around her neck.

Ben arches a brow and smiles. “Is that a chat up line, gorgeous?” He seeks amusedly. He smiles more when her eyes widen at his comment.

“Oh, my- I, gosh. _No_ I would never make a client meeting inapprop-“  She stops herself. Noticing the glint in his russet eyes.

“And- You’re teasing me _, right?”_ She asks.

Her tone was jovial, but he could sense some deflation of spirit in her when she spoke those words. And that made him sit up and take notice. Her voice had a gentle resignation about it that told him she had been susceptible to being teased, or picked on in the past. And that makes him ache inside.

“With the best of intentions, I promise. You’ve got a pretty _cute blush…”_ He smiles suavely. She bites her lip feeling said treacherous hotness blaze through her cheeks and flourish down her neck.

Evie turns her eyes instead to the menu before her. Feeling the almost cloth-like quality of the paper beneath her fingertips. She scanned through the luxurious sounding dishes, and her mouth was watering from just reading the list. He was right about what he said in the office, the scallops did sound heavenly. A silent waiter appeared by the side of the table, Ben was draped back in his seat, reclined back in it with his legs crossed. He was the picture definition of an urbane man.

“I think I’ll spring for that bottle of 2004 Prieur Montrachet today, thankyou Gordon…” Ben dismisses him with a lazy grin. He glides away as silently as he’d come.

“I take it white wine is ok?” He raises a brow in enquiry across at her.

“White wine is _always_ ok.” She tells him with a smile. Casting back her mind, she reflects that she’d never been the type to go out and enjoy a boozy long lunch before. Her work break seemed to consist of a sad little sandwich she’d scarf down at her desk as she made notes. Sweeping crumbs off her pages as she went. Once in a while she’d maybe treat herself to something at the deli across the street.

She was busy reading over the menu again, trying to decide her choices, when Ben’s question broke into her attention.

“So. Why _are you_ writing this piece on my brother?” He asks her. Leaning forwards with interest.

She blinks across at him for a second. “Well, it _uh_ , came across my bosses desk and he assigned me and three other writers the task of collecting inmate insight.” She tells.

Ben could hear in her tone that there was more she wanted to say.

“I’m curious, have you interviewed other murderers before?”

She seemed to answer warily. “ _No_. and I don’t think I did _very well_ about it either. Most of the prisoners I’ve been to see before were brought up on minor charges. They weren’t lifers. But, I liked giving them the chance, the opportunity, _to talk.”_

Ben tilts his head at her, urging her on, folding his hands on the table top.

“..I know this will probably sound _silly._ But I enjoy talking to these men. Some of them haven’t had visitors in years. Some of them have no family left either, whether by circumstance or just fate, and, I just believe it makes them feel like a _human being_ again, if only for half an hour. Even with my enquiries into their personal lives. They can feel more like _people,_ and less like criminals. Some even kept in touch with me after they got out via letter, telling me how they’re getting on so forth. And  it’s nice to think I might have helped them along in some _tiny way_.” She tells.

She meets his eyes, then very awkwardly thereafter turned her attention back to her menu. Fiddling with her locket again.

“I think that’s quite a noble deed.” Ben says with a small smile. “And don’t let Kylo’s coldness put you off. He’s just full of rage to be in that fucking place. He takes it out on everyone. I promise you, it’s nothing personal.” He explains.

“When he first looked at me, he looked like he wanted to leap across the table and strangle me with his shackles.” She mumbles.

_“Probably_.” Ben leers. _Knowing full well Kylo probably had several, far dirtier intentions in mind._  “But again. It’s nothing personal…” He leers.

“For his standoffish ways, he’s actually somewhat a people person. He can get along with anyone - _If_ he chooses too. Sometimes he can actually be _quite_ charming. He knows how to schmooze.”

“What did he do before he was convicted?” She asks. His file had neglected to mention anything about his job beforehand.

“He was an Architect…” Ben states. Smiling gladly as the silent sommelier returned, and presented the wine. Ben nods and the efficient waiter pours them both a glass of the beautiful, buttery golden wine. Placing it into a cooler, and then seamlessly gliding away again. Silent as the grave.

She should’ve been scribbling notes, but instead she reached for her wine. One sip let the flavours burst across her pallet, and it was gorgeous. Medium bodied, fruity, and juicy but with a zing to finish off the taste. It was _sinfully delicious_.

“I never would have guessed that…” She says as she stands the elegant wine glass back down.

“He was a residential architect for Maddox & Haig. One of the most innovative architecture and building firms in the city. He was one of the head designers there.” Ben tells. Evie never would have pegged the man for being the sort to have a white collar job.

“He was one of their best…” Ben states. “They fired him two days after he was arrested. And it hit him hard…” Ben can remember his former boss coming to visit him as they held him in custody. The conniving bastard left the room after sliding him his resignation letter across the table and telling him that ‘ _It was just bad business_.’

Kylo had _raged_.

“That must’ve been horrible…” Evie frowns. That adorable face of hers all pinched with concern again.

“He survived.” Ben smiles offhandedly with a shrug.

“You two aren’t terribly close I take it?” She infers. Reaching for more of that golden ambrosia that was the wine he’d chosen.

He smiles coyly before he answers. “We don’t tend to get along that well.” He offers. His tone was slightly cutting.

“I didn’t mean to pry…” Evie shakes her head. Thinking she’d risked offending him, and that was never her intention.

He grins again. “You’re not prying… _But_ …” He smirks leaning forwards, he grasped the bottle of wine and topped up her glass so it was almost full to the brim.

“Fuck Kylo for now. I would like to hear more _about you_ , gorgeous…” He winks, replacing the bottle in the cooler. It crunched in on the bed of ice.

“ _Oh_ , well. there’s _nothing_ very interesting about me, I’m afraid...” She answers humbly. Taking another small sip of her wine. Wiping one clammy hand on her napkin.

“Bullshit.” Ben smirks widely. Heat sprouts across her cheeks and she exhales an amused sound through her smile.

“What’s to tell? I Live in a small house in the woods just outside town. I write memoirs and columns for books for a publishing house. And my only hobby is my well beloved garden…” She offers.

He looks amused.

“ _See?_ Not much to tell at all.” She prompts.

“No, _partner?_ ” Ben asks as he swirls his wineglass. His eyes darkly hinted at flirtation. His look sent a firework of a thrill to race down her spine. _He was certain her answer was no. But if he’d somehow missed something in his investigating – unlikely – then he was going to have to hunt this faceless man down…_

Her throat felt dry. She moistened it with wine.

“The last date I went on was eons ago. And my last _not-so-very-nice_ boyfriend seemed to get bored of me, around the 6 month mark…” She explains. Withholding the fact that Jimmy was _still_ trying to claw his way back into clemency via email. She was ignoring him. But she knew it was only _a matter_ of time before he showed up at her door, late one night. Bottle of champagne in hand, blonde hair coiffed finely as usual, that megawatt smile she fell _so_ hard for, begging her, drawling out soft coos of how he was _so sorry_. That he wanted to just _be with_ her, _just_ for tonight…

She might have imagined it. But she saw his jaw tense before he spoke again. “Who was he?” He asks.

“He was the head of investments at the City Bank corporation. His father is CEO so naturally, he never had to work in his life. Whatever he wanted, he got given to him. Ego bigger than gods, and about as spoilt as one.”

Ben wanted to cave that spoilt brats face in with a punch.

“He sounds like a top tier asshole.” Ben snarls. _“Why’d_ it end, gorgeous?” He delves deeper.

“He wanted us to see other people…” She told him. “His subtle way of telling me he _already was…”_ She tells. “I think he was bedding a whole pack of girls by the end. He’d show up drunk at my front door occasionally, months after, trying to, _beg,_ his way in again…” her hand idly picked at her locket as she spoke.

“I never saw why he bothered _, really_. He broke it off saying I was the _dullest girl_ he’d ever had in bed.” She sighed angrily.

When Bens eyes met hers, she felt _weak._

“Tell me you put him on his dumb ass, baby?…” Ben drawls lowly. Leaning closer, his voice dropped deep to a purr.

She smiles. Hiding away the fact that, at first, she’d missed him so much, she didn’t resist his drunken advances. Because a small twisted part of her felt good for him still wanting her after all the others. But after the first time he’d charmed his way in, she grew more of a backbone. She locked the door in his face and ignored his _pathetic attempts_. She wasn’t  going to let herself _ever_ feel the way she did after that first time. Laying there in her bed with him after, in the glow, thinking he was back for good. And when she woke, she was alone again. He’d been so good as to take his leave whilst she slept, and offered a _pithy_ excuse written on a post it note stuck to her fridge.

“Happy to say, I locked the door and _ignored_ him.” She offers.

“That makes me _very happy_ to hear.” He tells her. _What a sin it was to waste her gorgeous self on a spoilt prick with no skill in bed._ That was almost _offensive_ to him. To think this girl wasn’t getting off right. Or more importantly, wasn’t _getting off_ with the right guy.

Just then, the waiter reappeared to take their orders. Ben gestured a palm to her first; everything on the menu sounded so good she hardly knew where to start.

“What do you recommend more? The Duck or the Scallops?” She asked politely. It was between those two.

“She’ll have _both_ and the bitter chocolate marquise to finish. I’ll have the trout, the venison, and the crème brulee.” Ben orders for the both of them. Smirking dangerously across at her as he hands back the menu’s. He seemed to revel in her surprise.

“I said it was _my treat_ …” He leers.

She has more wine. Otherwise she has a canny feeling she _won’t survive_ this lunch…

 

~

 

 


	4. Lurkers & Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger; stalking; none of this here be healthy folks

 

 

It was a calm, but windy evening. Night had gathered slow and dark. The air now thick with noise. Crickets hummed, far off in spreading canopies of trees birds chirruped and sang to the last fire-kissed embers of the dying day.

As ever, Evie was alone, at home. Having a quiet night in to herself. Much like all the other quiet nights in to herself she’d enjoyed throughout her life, they were often and many. She’d potter about her garden before the sun set, watering and getting rid of weeds. Then she’d come in, wash up, enjoy a glass of wine as she made dinner for one – _always dinner for one_. She’d eat at her dining table, reading a magazine or a book as the sun set. She’d wash up, tidy, and then find something to occupy herself with.

Tonight, that would be a soak in her bath. Her shoulders and lower back aching something terrible from being hunched over at her desk all day. Going over notes that Ben gave her over their lunch date. The thought of it still made her smile. It had done all week.

Her spirits were left exuberant all day after her lunch with Ben. For what felt like the first time in a long while, she’d spoken to someone who was more interested _in her,_ than selling themselves, and their story.  She’d almost expected Ben to sit there gloating about himself and knocking back a bottle of $500 wine. Instead, he’d shared that bottle with her, poured her glass after glass, and expressed an interest in her, her writing and her life. He’d made her smile, and laugh and forget that he was a client; by the end of it he felt more like a friend.

A very flirtatious, very handsome friend at that.

After not having drunk much himself, he escorted her back to her office, and deposited her kindly on the doorstep. With another wink and a kiss to the hand he was gone. As suave as he’d come. Said he’d hoped he’d see her again soon. _She hoped he wasn’t joking with her._ She hightailed it back to her desk, with her notebook, and spent the rest of the day smiling, with her head in the clouds. Replaying her very enjoyable lunch date in her head. Thinking back on every smile, every laugh. _He’d had such a melodic laugh_.

The sensible part of  her head tried telling her that he was only being nice because he was telling her Kylo’s story for own personal gain. The smaller, quieter part of her actually wanted to bask a little in the fact that such a beautiful man had paid her such attention. Taken her to the most expensive meal she’s had in years. Invested his _entire_ afternoon in talking to her. As he’d joked about in his office.

A small smile clung to her lips as she took a glass of cold white wine upstairs, sipping it as she went. She turned all the lights off downstairs, letting only the honey-gold lights flanking both bedside tables gently fill the room. She stood the glass on her dresser and walked into her small ensuite, carefully lighting the brass antique candlesticks her granny had left her. There were two mounted to the wall, by the sink. She placed the old Victorian style candle holder on the stool near the end of the bath. She liked the smell of the beeswax candles as they burned. An aroma that reminded her staunchly of her mother. She used to light them and make a tent out of a washing line and their old rosebud bedsheets, playing with her in the garden when she was little. It sometimes seemed to Evie she was surrounded by ghosts in this warm little house. Memories of her loved ones always chipping in, tapping on the doors and window ledges like rain trying to get in.

One thing that couldn’t be denied about her home; it was stuffed with memories of love and cherished items. Each embroidered quilt, a threadbare rug she can remember laying on as a child to read her story books. The patterned floral wallpaper that had faded in the sun. All of it was a comfort to her, eased the loneliness a little. Being wrapped up in old family comforts helped remind her she was not so isolated as she often felt.

She crossed to her dresser and took off her silver locket. It was practically falling to bits now. The silver was long since tarnished and the chain was fine and wearing thin. She undid the catch and laid it down. Working on the rest of her clothes as she watched out her window. She was the only house for miles in the wood. Her nearest neighbour was Mrs Hobbs, an elderly painter with 6 cats– still, she was three miles away down the track road along the river. As such, she never bothered much with closing her blinds or curtains at night. She liked the view of the tree outside her window soaked in moonlight and thrashing about with the fussing of the wind tossing it about. She loved hearing the noise of the leaves hissing and hitting together as she fell asleep.

She undressed with a quick tidiness, reaching up to tie her hair up into an artless bun as she scampered naked to reach for her dressing gown. She wrapped it about herself, thankful for its warm towelling to ease her gooseflesh from the cold air of her little home. Heat seeped out quickly after the sun sank, after all it was a drafty old house. The sun did well to warm each room, but heat of the day sharply disappeared afterwards. Coldness replaced the warmth ever so swiftly at night.

She wrapped up quickly and reached for her wine. Arm crossed over her cold self as she sipped, crossing to the en-suite and opening the tap quick to pour hot steaming water into the small tub. Heat and steam filled the air for which she was thankful. She couldn’t wait to sink in and feel the warmth take away the chill in her cold toes. Couldn’t wait for it to bite into the gooseflesh of her upper arms and drive it away.

She shivered to herself. Chiding the water to fill the tub quicker. “Hurry up you old thing…” She moans to the ancient, spurting tap.

Her phone _rings._

She turns her head and see’s her phone where she left it, vibrating and the screen lighting up on her bedside. It was well past ten. _Who on earth was calling at this time of night?_

Intrigued she stands her wine down and pads through right to her bedside. The caller ID flashed _‘Unknown’_ up at her in glaring white text. She watched the call die. She was in no mood to pick up to some telemarketer this late in the day. She waved it off and crossed back to her bath.

Then it buzzed. Her text tone chiming.

She stops, and again, turns back to look at it. That same unknown number lighting up her screen with notification of a text.

She goes back and picks it up. Two words reaching out to her.

“ _Hello Evie.”_

She frowns. Confused, she puts her phone down. Turning it over and ignoring it. She had to get back to her bath before it ran over _. Three more times it chimes_. She shuts her bathroom door. Pushing it out of her mind. She strips out of her fluffy gown, hangs it up on the back of the door. And sinks gladly into her bath. Heat stinging, tearing at her every cell.

_From beyond the door it chimes again._

She shuts her eyes. Probably some stupid prank like before. Some idiot like Mark, or Eric, at her office asking her to swap stories or wanting a favour off her as she was on the convicts memoirs project. Wanting to swap her out so she could write some dry rubbish about low level scandal about tax expenses for avoiding parking tickets at the mayor’s office or something.

She shuts her eyes. Work could wait til tomorrow. For now, she was enjoying listening to nothing but the trees being whipped in the wind outside her window. The patter of water dripping from the faucet into the tub where she sat. A soft clinking as water sloshes the side of the bath as she moved under the silvery surface of the scented water. The old gurgle and rush of old pipes clanging in the wall, along with the towel heater whirring to life as it warmed the room. Keeping her fluffy ivory coloured towels warmed for when she gets out.

 _Then again comes a chime from her phone_.

She opens her eyes, standing from the tub in a rush of water spitting down to her feet. She yanks her robe off her door, wraps herself up in. The way she moved quickly causing air to disturb the flickering beeswax candles, making eerie shadows dance, flickering up the floral wallpapered walls.

She crosses back into the cold air of her bedroom. Grabs her phone, turns it over and unlocks it. Panting, she opens the messages.

 _“Hello Evie.”_ She’d seen. Now it was followed by “ _Are you having a nice night?”_ “ _How’s the wine?”_ aswell as “ _Enjoying your soak in the tub, sweet thing?”_

Her blood chilled a little. She wet her lips and quickly typed a response.

“Who is this? Do I know you?” and tapped send. Watching it cling to the screen. She watched with alarm as it was instantly read and a reply sent back. _fast_.

“ _Not as well as I’d like.”_ Came the cryptic response. And then another.

“ _I’d like to know you better so very much, Evie.”_

_“I want to know you inside out.”_

She shook her head, scared and bewildered. “I’m in no mood for a stupid joke. Please leave me alone.”

_“Please? How sweet.”_

_“You really are shy aren’t you my sweet thing?”_

“Go and harass someone else. Leave me be.” She signs off. Putting her phone down as if it burned her skin. Blistered her fingertips.

_It chimes still._

She steps away and stares at it. It was screen down. She couldn’t see what message this person was sending her. By now, the cold air was prickling the skin on her legs. Every hair needled on end. _Painful._ She was cold and her hands were trembling. This was some stupid, sick, joke.

She turns it over.

_“You don’t want to play? How can that be when you’re already in the game?”_

“Game?” She asks herself. “What game?” She whispers. _They_ answer for her…

_“Getting close to a killer.”_

She stares at her screen and a tear comes to the corner of her eye. She exhales and wets her lips. So she asks the only logical question that comes into her head.

“Do you want to hurt me?”

_“Far from it.”_

“What _DO_ you want?” She asks, frustrated. Tears now clawing at the back of her eyes. Her chest bubbling over with panic.

 _“More of this pretty sight….”_ Comes an unnerving response. And another message. _A picture._

It was a picture of _her_. It was her ten minutes ago when she was undressed before she got into her gown. Taken from outside her bedroom window. _There she was_. Framed in golden light and hemmed in by the darkness outside her window.

She was now staring at a very naked picture of herself as she’d turned to put up her hair. It was a chiaroscuro of her bare body from the half-light coming from her bedside lamp. She could see the curve of her backside, her hip, and where she’d twisted to her side, the way her breast sloped against her chest. Rosy pink nipple stood erect in the cold.

 _Another_ picture wormed its way through.

Now it was one of her, _right where she stood_ , wet, naked, wrapped up in her gown, looking down at her phone. Her hair was wet where it had dipped in the water. The _very same_ wisps she could now feel sticking to her neck. The white light of the screen lighting up her scared, damp face.

_“Why don’t you drop that robe again baby?”_

_“Let me see you.”_

_“Does that pussy of yours taste as sweet as it looks?”_

She throws her phone onto her bed and darts to her window, a whimper escaping her mouth as she drags the curtain across sharply. Pulling each side closed. She staggers back and the phone chimes again from where it was pillowed on her embroidered quilt.

_“Oh now. Don’t be shy…. Not just as I’m starting to have fun.”_

_Another picture._

This time taken of her from the side. Showing the profile of her terror. Stood in the robe, directly in view from the open second bedroom window to her right. Facing the back of her house. She glanced outside, gulping. All she could see was moonlit trees in the flurry of the wind. Branches scraping against the wood of the house. Scratching down like impatient fingernails trying to rake their way in.

She lets her eyes search across her garden. _Looking_ for anything. _Something_. Any indication of a figure stood, somewhere, watching her. Hunched in the safety of the trees shadows. Lurking. _Waiting…_

Her heart slams up against her windpipe in terror. She’d left the back door _unlocked._ _What if they’d lied about hurting her?_

She darts for the stairs and races down them. Each step thundering adding to the vicious drum of her quaking heart. Rounding the hallway she sprints quickly for the back door. Her pulse hummed and thrummed her throat. Her feet slapping wetly onto the wooden floor as she launches for the door and twists the latch violently in the lock.

She lifts the lace net curtain that covers the small window wedged into her back door and holds it aloft. She looks out at her dark garden. Everything was _ordinary_. Every flower pot was in place. The grass and shrubbery the only things moving as they were rustled in the harsh wind. She blinks, and looks. Listening to her heart pulsing in her ears. Her breath slowing.

 _They can’t get in. They can’t hurt you._ She repeats to herself.

She drops the curtain, twists on her heel and marches for the front door. She rattles the lock to test it. Peering out, all was right there too. No one at the gate. No one she could see roaming her front garden. _So why did she still feel like treading dark water, surrounded by things she couldn’t see from the deep, circling her?_

She swallows down her panic, and heads back upstairs. As she approaches her bed, she’d not surprised to see the screen was bright with a new message.

“ _Checking the back door? Cute. What a sensible girl you are. I knew you would be.”_

She picks it up.

“I’ll ask again. What do you want? You want to scare me is that it?” She types.

 _“You ask so many questions_.”

“You answer _none_ of them.” She points out.

_“Oh I knew you had a little spec of fire about you, baby. I’d love to see it more…”_

_“I’d love to see all of you more.”_

_“I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to hurt you either.”_

“I don’t believe you.” She dares.

“ _No?_ ” Comes an amused reply.

 _“I don’t want to hurt you. I do however, as I keep saying, want to know you better_. _See you better….Taste you better….”_

“For what purpose?” She asks.

_“I gotta have a purpose? I can’t just want to fuck you every which way til you’re spent and purring nothing but my name, for my own interest?”_

“Tell me your name first.” She tries to bargain.

“ _Oh sweet thing…”_ The text mocks. _She already knew it._

“This sick flirting game isn’t my idea of fun. Leave me alone and go and…. _Assault_ someone else.” She texts.

 _“I want you.”_ Comes the simple message.

“Why _me?”_ She seeks.

“Have I offended you in some way? Hurt you?”

 _“You’ve never hurt anyone a day in your life Evie.”_ They tell. _“Let’s call it… a casual interest, stemming from a favour I owed a friend_.”

“Your interest doesn’t feel purely ‘ _Casual’_ to me.” She bites back, referring to the naked photo they’d sent.

“ _Ok. I lied. I wanna fuck you, and my friend does too. Happy? We both want to get you on your back and spread those pretty legs, and fuck and lick what lies between them... Me most of all…”_

“Congrats. That’s the first thing you’ve said that I actually believe.” She snipes.

 _“We’ll see.”_ Comes their amused answer.

 _“Goodnight Sweet Girl. Shows over for tonight. Go drink your wine. Or it’ll be warm now…”_ They flirt.

Evie watches her phone for a second, waiting for one last message to ping through. A photo. Anything that might give her a clue as to what sick psycho was doing this to her. Hunting her. Lurking around her house. Spewing out about spreading her legs and fucking her like she was a piece of meat.

She unplugged her bath. She threw her wine down the sink. And she slept fitfully with every door locked. Clutching her quilts and trying to let the rustle of leaves outside her window soothe her like it usually did. Fear  kept creeping back every time a branch scraped the windowpane. Every time shadows from the crack in the curtains slunk up the wall and flickered, dancing across the carpet like it could reach its long fingers into her bed. Stroking her as she slept.

Across town, in a far richer pad. Someone slept like _a king_ with a grin on his handsome lips. His arms crossed under his mane of hair.

Even further out of town still. In an ugly grey building that took up the horizon. Someone was woken in their bunk by their soundless ringtone buzzing under their mattress. Metal scraped by the vibrations of it. His eyes cracked open. Seeing the shitty cell of his filled with dark and sickly orange from the tower lights in the yard. He reaches under his pathetic excuse for a mattress and pulls out his contraband phone that had been snuck to him two days prior.

He brought it up and let his eyes adjust to the lock screen. His stomach tensed and his blood fired molten when he saw the limber naked frame on sweet display in the picture. _He was hard now for sure;_ but a strange sense of rage tasted sour on his tongue. And there was a single line with the photo;

_“A present for you.”_

 

 

~

 

 

_“Well._ If it isn’t my little kitten. Back to see me _so soon_ …” Kylo crooned into the waiting room from the corridor. Just like the first time he saw her, he cocks his head at her through the bars, tilting at her with the start of that curling smirk that _reeked_ of confidence and superiority.

 _“Watch it,_ Ren.” Comes a job from the guard. A prod in his ribs from a prison issue nightstick.

Kylo didn’t even _feel_ it. Not now he could look upon her. The sight that fuelled his dreams.

Evie looked up when he spoke, that baritone drawl was _playful_ today. She blinked her heavy eyes and swallowed. Meekly staying put, as usual, Kylo saw her petite body stayed rooted to the spot on the metal chair. Awaiting his presence opposite. _Being obedient like the good girl she was._

He wet his lips when he saw what she wore today; it looked like a dress. It was warmer outside today. He could tell cause this fucking place baked like an oven in the open heat of the sun. It had him sweating his balls off already and it was barely past noon. It seems his kitten was taking advantage of the summer climes too. In true style for her, it was a bohemian looking sundress. Blue and white stripe with buttons all along the front, another fucking fuzzy grey cardigan still on her top half – he wondered if she ever left that thing off.

_But then again, his little present last night proved that thought true._

_He wasn’t able to get back to sleep until he stroked his cock like a randy teen to the shitty little image of her on his phone. Grunting trying to stop moaning too loud, cumming again with a cry of kitten on his lips. At this rate, he’d beat his cock raw if she kept doing this to him. She was the ultimate torment; being able to look all he liked, but never allowed to touch._

One thing he would say in favour for the ugly dress of hers today though – it gave him a hell of a view as they drew close before he sat down. _He towered tall he could see right down her cleavage_. When he was finally on his seat having his hands shackled, the view was modest once more. An antique silver locket lay cool and smooth against her sternum, practically signposting his eyes to draw _downwards_ to her chest, but he resists to look. Her hair was up, glasses on. He focuses now on her face, and that’s when he saw her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and the crescent moons of her under eyes hung heavy and dark.

He waits until he’s secure, and that they have their much awaited privacy before he speaks.

“Rough night?” He asks. His eyes intently fixed on hers. He sat coolly examining her. Eyes flitting all around to find any detail of her that might be off. _He could find none_. Save for her tired eyes, she was as she always was.

 _He knew her. He knew she didn’t have some faceless partner fucking her through the night to keep her up_. If she did, she was sure to be in a _far better_ mood than her current state. He finds that even the untrue thought of her having a lover, having someone else fuck her, did make his knuckles clench white with barely restrained fury _. No. No. His_ kitten was wholly single. Wholly alone, and completely _ripe_ for the plucking.

She furrows her brow in that adorable way she does.

“I didn’t sleep very well.” She offers up. “It was windy last night, a branch kept _hitting_ my window and waking me..” She offers pithily with a small, swift smile as she adjusts on the seat, and hair tucks behind her ear. _He’d missed that._

_She was a fucking terrible liar though, he thinks._

She was keeping her terrifying encounter of last night clutched close to her chest. They’d said something about her _‘getting close to a killer_.’ And she didn’t fancy another late night visit from her stalking stranger. So she was keeping it all to herself. She wasn’t going to the police – not that they could do much anyway. No actual threat had been made to her. _Only their sexual wants had been levelled at her_. She’d be too embarrassed to come forwards about it anyway. She might get a lecture for being a stupid girl and not closing her blinds at night. And letting some bored creep get her all scared over _nothing._

Kylo just stares at her, makes a vague grunt noise of affirmation. Then he leans forward, those big shoulders and solid wall of his chest coming closer to the table as he braces more on it. Evie fought the urge to scoot back in her chair. Up close she forgot how _big_ he was. How _threatening._

It was sweltering in here today. Sweat was present, sheening slightly on his brow. He wore his jumpsuit folded to his trim waist, just above his massive hips. She could see his bare arms where he wore a ribbed black cotton t-shirt. It looked soft in contrast to his hard body. The fabric bobbled with age where it had been lovelessly washed numerous times. It clung tight to his torso. Outlining every muscle, every ridge. It pressed _so tightly_ she could make out two twin rings clinging to the flat discs of where his nipples would be. Under the bagginess of that jumpsuit she’d never been able to see he had nipple rings. Now she could see it all. Every inch he displayed without care. Every slab of him, of each muscle was tough. There was no hint of softness at his belly. It was purely sharp. Every edge of him was. _Nothing_ about Kylo was rounded, soft, or weak. _She felt doubly scared when she thought of what made a man to shape him in that way._

When he shifted forwards, she could smell him. Sweat, hot musky skin, and bland clean soap. Institution grooming products did nothing to hide the way his natural scent poured off him.

“No questions for me today? Or did you just wanna sit here _gawping_ at me?” He asks tersely.

Her mouth gapes and her hand flies across for her notebook. The tips of her fingers barely graze the cover and he speaks again. Barks at her.

_“No.”_

She looks up, uneasy. Watching how he was glowering at her.

“You said-“ She begins.

“I don’t want whatever shitty questions your Boss got you to take down. A strict set of _utterly boring_ professional rules. I want real. _Go off the cuff,_ Kitten.”

“You’re a writer aren’t you? Where’s _that imagination_ you told me so much about?” He counters. “I can promise you limitless questions about my childhood, and trying to understand what I did for a college major won’t tell you _shit_ about why I ended up in this place. Like every other suit seems to think. Ask me something _fucking real_ for once…” He growls.

“Don’t risk boring me, it’s not a route you’d care to take.” He promises with _that_ smirk. Though his eyes remained _so_ dark, and intimidating. His threat lingered in the air.

She glances around nervously. _The guards outside didn’t notice. Finch wasn’t scurrying in to come to her rescue. Of course, he knows this too._

“Finch is too fucking _lazy_ to be listening in today Kitten.” He assures her. “Mic’s broken.” He says. She peers up to see the small instrument fixed above them, dangling over the table had fraying wires hanging from the base. Her eyes go across to the small surveillance camera in the corner.

 _“Oh,_ don’t panic kitten. He’s in there. But he’s not bothering to watch us today. No sound coming through the mic, but he can see us on screen. As long as I don’t make a move to leap over the table or try and _grab_ you, he won’t care; _Neither_ will they…” He jerks his head to the side motioning to the guards outside the cell door. But he never took his eyes off her. _Still._

_Speaking of grabbing her… his hands itch to do what he shouldn’t. He wants her to be the one in shackles instead. He wants to rip her clothes right off her body. Shred them to scraps so she can’t wear them ever again. Snap those fucking glasses in half. He wants to see her pinned to this table, hands tied, legs viced in his hands, hard enough to bruise her. He wants her whimpering in fear as he spreads her out and eats her until she’d begging and crying for him to stop. He wants tears rolling down that cute face by the time he’s done._

True to form however, Kylo was right; the fat shrink was in the anteroom, glancing at the monitor every now and again to make sure Ren stayed put. Scratching his ear idly. A magazine folded open in his tubby hands, asking the guard with him what he thought of last night’s game as he sipped his mug of coffee.

“He _clearly_ cares about his job.” She comments dryly. Even with all the ways Kylo had pointed out her lack of support, the potential danger she was in, _her lack of safety_ , she felt an almost sense of relief that she could ask him questions without the whole world listening in.

“He _hates_ his patients. Hates the guts of every last one. Everyone hates us in here, Kitten.” He tells her with a small curl of an amused smile.

Her brow furrows again. She probably couldn’t comprehend that, she’d spent her life being liked by everyone and liking everyone in return.

“How _in hell_ do you cope?” She blurts out unbelievingly before she can stop herself. She seems to realise this, because her cheeks heat and she pushes her glasses up her nose again.

“You don’t have to-“ She trails off, letting him know he didn’t need to answer that.

He looks at her for a long second. “You find _ways_ … or you _don’t survive._ ” Comes his promise.

“I believe you.” She tells. Looking for a second at his scar. How could anyone do that to another human being? He’d been conscious when they had done that to him, he would have felt every second of the knife cutting, tearing into him. Into his skin.  

“What are your coping methods?” She asks curiously.

“Gym.” He tells. Her eyes flicker to his bulked out arms that looked thicker and stronger than columns of marble. Columns of Grecian marble, arms of gods, etched with deathly tattoos. _Of course_.

“Yard. And books.”

That word she knew well.

“Books…” She smiles. “What better way to escape?” She offers. Her eyes meeting his. Blue ocean meets Black depths.

“Sadly. None I know of.”

“Don’t let Finch catch you saying that.” She japes quietly.

He looked amused for a second. Smile tipping up at the corners. One fingertip idly stroked the cool flat of the metal table before him. Skin catching on a worn groove that he traced.

“How do you escape? When life gets too much.” He wonders aloud. His eyes flick to his hand for a second, before tipping back up and striking into her gaze again.

His eyes in hers always seemed to send a sensation through her as if she’d just touched hot metal. Its instant, its consuming, and it scalds her skin every damn time. Yet she never learns not to look. She gets _a thrill_ from it. A hit.

“The normal ways I suppose…” She explains. Wetting her lips and shifting in her seat. When she moved, the worn locket around her neck swung across her décolletage like a silver pendulum. He tried so hard not to follow its movements. He failed. He watched it sweep against the side of her breast. _He was aching to sink his teeth in all over those pretty things and make her shriek because of it._

“You and me have very different experiences of _normal_ here, kitten.” He points out, a dangerous edge to his voice,, turning his hands upwards, making his shackles rattle and scrape against the table. She still winces a little when he does. _He still loves that she does._

She blinks at her own foolishness. Hair tucks. Chews her lower lip as she thinks.

“My life is probably about as exciting as _yours._ ” She lets out. “I get up, I go to work. I come home. I drink some wine. Maybe watch a movie. Maybe re-read one of my favourite book’s. Do some gardening, if it’s not raining, and if I have the time.”

One glaring discrepancy from that list made him _so very happy_ that he had to fight off a chuckle.

“You not got a man, Kitten?” He asks. He fucking knew she didn’t. But he wanted to hear it come from _her lips. His eyes looked ravenous now._

“Haven’t had one of _those_ in my life for quite a _long_ time.” She tells. Wiping her clammy hands on her linen dress. _She must’ve sounded so boring and pathetic to a man like him._

“Not even a _date?”_ He pursues.

She shakes her head.

“One night stand atleast?” He purrs. Leaning ever closer. His voice dropping to an octave that melted in her ears like oozing honey.

She outright blushes. He grew slightly hard from watching her. His thighs tensing.

“I’ve _never_ done that..” She says breathlessly. Nervously crossing her legs. When she moved under the table, he could feel the air from her body shift. Giving him that drift of her perfume once more. He has to close his eyes and swallow down something so darkly lustful that had rose up in him.

_Images of his shackled hands slamming her back on this table top and prying her legs apart to bury his face between those - practically virginal - soft, thighs of hers._

“What about marriage?” Kylo asks. “I’d have thought a safe girl like you would have bagged a husband years ago.” He pushes.

She tilts her head. “Never found the _right man_ I suppose.” Then she adds. “Or maybe he never found me? Who knows…” She smiles weakly.

 _Good._ Kylo smirks _. Cause the absolutely wrong one found you instead. You just don’t know it yet._

“ _Well._ Your love life can’t always have been desolate? There’s gotta be some ex lurking somewhere… _unless_ …” He draws off.

“Unless _?_ ” She asks.

 _“Unless_ you’ve… never, _had_ , a man.” He intones slowly. Letting his insinuation drift in the air like woodsmoke. _If she dares sits there and tells him no man has ever fucked her, pleasured her, eaten her pussy to within an inch of her life. Well, then….these shackles wouldn’t even keep him back. They wouldn’t even slow him down._

 _Seven_ shades of scarlet could only describe the colour of her cheeks right then.

“I’ve, _been with,_ a man.” She manages to gasp out. Unbelieving that _this_ was what he wanted to talk about.

“One more thing I miss from being inside here…” Kylo suggests. “The company and conversation of an intelligent _beautiful,_ woman…”

She raises her eyes to meet his. Blood still pouring into her cheeks to _remind_ her they are still glaring pink.

“In that case, your exes sound _far_ more charming than mine…” She tells him.

He tilts his head. A question in itself. _The CEO City Bank douche who was still annoying her via email perhaps…_

“That _so?”_ He urges. Wondering when she’d realise that _he_ was questioning _her_ , rather than the other way around.

“Jimmy was not exactly after me and my time for our conversation... I think he took me out for dinner _twice_ in all of the months we dated. He was a natural born charmer. Had his way with anything he wanted. Never understood what he saw in me anyway, he told me so plenty enough times when we argued...”

 _Fucking pitiful waste of skin_ , treating her like that, Kylo growled to himself.

“Some things about having a relationship with him must’ve been worth it though… right? The intimacy, the closeness. Relying on someone else… Especially _at night_ … I know I _sure as hell_ miss having someone next to me in bed.”

“Sure, sex can be _nice_ \- but…”

“Nice?” Kylo bites out. If she can describe sex only as _‘nice’_ she wasn’t having the right kind. _Or_ the right man.

“Never been fucked so good it leaves you _shaking?_ Thighs trembling, legs weak, heart pounding, voice hoarse, kind of sex…. The kind that means you can’t walk afterwards…” He drawls. Leaning in his seat, looking like he was getting ready to pounce.

She wet her lips. It was suddenly dry in here… _If he up stood now she’d get such an obscenely shocking view of his hard on tenting his pants._

She looked adorably confused. “ _Why_ would it… do _that?_ ” She asks in a curious whisper.

He smirks like the Cheshire cat, and chuckles darkly. “Oh, _Kitten_ …” He husks.

She hadn’t noticed that where they had both leaned into the table, her clasped hands were close enough to his. Close enough to lightly touch. _Only just_. Which is what happens, she hears the shackles scrape, but she’s too entranced with holding his eyeline to look. Her breath leaves her in a long exhaling rush when she feels Kylo’s fingertip softly brush against her knuckle. His skin was so warm. His skin calloused and tough.

She looks down at the table top at their hands. Able to hear her heartbeat strumming in her ears, wildly thrumming her throat too. Their hands close together, the size differences are almost _laughable_. He dwarfed her in every sense. Because the second his hand touched upon hers, the _whole_ of her shivered, and clenched. She felt hot, cold and _everything_ in between.

Damn certain by now, she was hyperventilating. Her chest was swelling and falling, yet no air rushed sweetly like relief into her lungs. _How could that be?_ She braves a look up to him, and _right there_ are those intense eyes set in that intensely beautiful, violence hardened face.

“You’ve been surrounded by _fools_.” He growls in a burnt molasses tone, low enough to strike oil.

His gist was more than clear; _if I was lucky enough to be the man fucking you at night kitten, well you’d know of it._

She’s not proud of it; but she _scarpers_.

“I-I have to go…” She stammers. She tears her hands away from his – though she really didn’t want too - and rushes to gather her things. She shoves them haphazardly into her bag, tripping over her own feet, she clatters to the door as quick as her scared little legs can take her. She rattles the door and it takes far too long to open.

Kylo daggers his eyes into her back as he watches her scurry away. He watches her dress sway around her legs, how the material clings to her hips. To her perfect round ass too. In a swish of that striped linen fabric and her unremarkable perfume she is off down the hallway.

“Waiter?” Kylo calls broadly to the guard. Grinning to himself. They moved to come and unshackle him. His eyes caught on something under the table. A small silver pendant. He makes a fake ploy of reaching for his laces and scoops it up into his hands. Finding the catch on the fine silver chain had snapped. He grins; cause now he had a memento of her too…

_Her locket._

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Yes I did give Kylo nipple rings. I’m sorry. I got rather fixated on that. Cause. HoLy FucK. If any man could pull them off? It’s this fucker right here....
> 
> Any problems with that? Come see me in my office. Let’s talk it out....


	5. Clauses & Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie finds out just far she'll go for answers... and how precarious a path her job is leading her down.... short, I know, hopefully I' ll get more up here tomorrow, stay tuned xxxx 
> 
> oh, & bless you all, so much for your lovely comments thus far, I promise I'll get round to answering them eventually! I appreciate each one. Please don’t think they are being ignored in leau of ungratefulness! I squee with each one, I assure you. all my love and do continue to tell me what you guys think! xxx
> 
> (Yes I know this most likely as fuck ain’t true to life or the judicial system at all! But I’m trying to get as close to reality as fiction allows! I’m just so determined to get Kylo right as a sociopath for this fic. I don’t care what else goes on! - well. I do. But- I will not go down as a a bad researcher! Above all else! I’ve spent so long on this now. I’m just aching to make sure I get it, and that you guys, all get it true to form) 
> 
> Yes. I do ramble sometimes. T’is my weakness. As long as this is being enjoyed I’m going to go drink some wine now and just enjoy my little bunch of AU Kylo’s on here. Ty very much. I love you. A. L. L.

 

 

 

The bar she’d stepped into couldn’t have been more cliched as a ‘ _hole in the wall_ ’ if it tried. Inside is dark and dense, the atmosphere suffocated by everything. It was full of noise, and an odd tension hung in the air as solidly as the Texan country music that twanged through the speakers in a low drawl.

She let the door clatter shut behind her, and the sound of it hitting the frame made several patrons look over at her as she did. She gulped nervously as she stood on the spot. Timidly glancing around at the many gnarled and unimpressed faces glaring back at her. She bit her lip, walking forwards, her shabby heels scuffing the sawdust and peanut shells that were scattered like debris all across the messy dark wood floor. Neon lights gave off some of the only light in this place. Coors and Budweiser signs lighting up the smoggy air. Smoking bans didn’t seem to apply to places like this, she thinks idly. The smog of the place filled her senses; it was all man, and odorous sweat, ash and beer.

The only bright part of the room was the weakly lit pool table section off to the far left. Two gigantic men squeezed into sleeveless plaid shirts were playing, sipping bottled beer and eyeing her carefully as she picked her gentle way across to the bar. There were a few leather booths along the back wall, the bar filled the space to the right. Mirrored dusty shelves showed off many bottles of strong, amber coloured spirits.  A few other grizzled, old leather clad bikers were hunched over some of the tables near the middle, wrapped in bandanas, piercings and tattoos. Noisily munching peanuts as they watched the football game that roared quietly from the ancient TV in the corner of the bar. A few chuckles and stares were chucked her way. She bites the inside of her lip and ignores any of them. They all knew from one glance of her;

_No way in hell a girl like her belonged in a place like this._

It was as if they could sense the trepidation coming off her in waves. As if she was broadcasting it out of her every pore. The fact she didn’t belong. The fact she was scared. Mingled closely with the fact that she didn’t know if this was something she _should_ be doing. A meaty, stout barkeep approaches her, slinging his hairy tatted arms from two draft taps. Chewing gum he flicked her a sizeable glance up and down, his gold jewellery glinting from his matted chest and fat fingers. There was a balding ring of greasy hair combed over on his head, and his mauve silk striped shirt would have been vintage even in the _eighties_.                                                                                      

“Waitress positions are through the kitchens, princess…” He says dully. Evie shrinks back when a massive man in a sleeveless denim jacket and jeans turns in his barstool twists about and gives her a silent assess from under the brim of his black Stetson. His face disguised mostly in shadow from his sideburns, long tacky black mullet and handlebar moustache. A toothpick lodged in his teeth as he glares at her like she’d just slapped him.

She shakes her head, nervously adjusting her coat in her hands. Feeling like a mouse in a snake pit, stood there in her prim white blouse, black tunic, sheer black tights and peeling work heels. She’d left her hair down, and glasses off.

“I’m actually _meeting_ someone…” She informs him politely.

He grunts. Fed up with her already.

“Drink?” He sighs irascibly.

“Jack and coke please…” She swallows, reaching for the folded dollars in her purse.

He moves away slowly, shabbily shooting the liquor and sweet drink to slosh into the glass. It fizzed and spit over her hand when she took it off the bar. Sliding him a ten and telling him to keep the change with a meek smile, before her eyes go to the ground and she steps away

She picks her way across to one of the booths. The mess on the floor scraping under her soles as she did. When she came to the empty booth she gingerly stood her drink down and tried not to wince when her skirt stuck to the peeling leather seat. The stench of beer reeking as she sat down on the seat letting her know it had been soaked and spilled on in the past. She can’t see why an earth a retired police officer would choose a place like _this_ to meet with her.

Part of her research into Kylo had uncovered more about the arresting officers on his case. She was also concerned that there weren’t half as many files in his case than she’d come to be used to with other convicts. It was as if half of the records were missing, or very scant. Which she struggles to believe. _He’d slaughtered five men like cattle. Killed in cold blood like it was sport to him._ Surely there was more on him than just one flimsy folder? She’d been relentlessly digging for more wherever she could find it… and if she couldn’t turn up paperwork, she’d try and turn up some people to talk too instead. Much more lucid than pieces of paper in the first place, she always found.

She was meeting one Ron Walker, who used to be the Sergeant at the precinct downtown when Kylo’s case went through it four years ago. He retired by the time Kylo was inside six months later.

She looked around across the dingy bar as she sipped her very boozy drink and tried not to make too much eye contact with everyone who looked like they’d gouge her eyes out if she locked eyes with them for more than three seconds. A glass, a tumbler of bourbon, slamming down onto her table makes her want to squeak and jump out her seat when she looked up to see a grizzled old man stood opposite her.

Ron Walker was a tall, lean man. He had a thin elderly face full of angles, sprouting with thick, combed white hair and a deep grey moustache, was staring down at her with calm interest. His eyes were flat and dark. Strung around his neck was a gold chain. And he wore a dark red plaid shirt and worn jeans adorned with a Texan style belt buckle glinting on his waistline. She was willing to bet there were sturdy brown timberlands, or similar work boots on his feet. His face and hands were brawny and tanned, and the waft of greenery, pine and wood that emanated from his clothes told her he worked with his hands, and had indulged in outdoorsy pursuits after leaving the force.

“Winslow, isn’t it?” He asks her. Shoving his drink along the table and easing his willowy frame into the seat adjacent to her in the sticky, dark booth.

“Yes. Mr Walker…” She rises into an awkward half standing position and shakes his hand. A wide palm full of dry calluses and tough skin grips hers back. “Thankyou for meeting me tonight. Hope I _didn’t trouble_ you too much. I only want to ask you a few questions if its convenient?” She seeks, sitting back down, watching him relax as she reached for her notebook.

He shrugs lazily. A slight smile pushing that tache of his up at the corners as he takes a large draining sip of his drink.

“About Ren, right?” Comes a deep dulcet enquiry.

Her face falls. “I’m afraid so.” She holds out. He chuckles at her.

“If I had a dollar for every time someone approached me to ask about him, I’d be _a rich_ man.” He tells. “His case rocked our precinct. Before him, we’d had a fairly quiet run of DUI’s, domestic disturbances and strings of B&E’s.” He explains. “What he did made every other one of our plain homicide cases look like a fucking _papercut_ …”

Her mouth was dry, as if she’d shoved a handful of that sawdust littering the bars dingy floor in her mouth. Acrid terror floods her tongue. Cloys her throat. It tastes like hot pennies, and copper, it’s sour like _blood_.

She reached for her drink to moisten it. She’d heard countless times about the severity of Kylo’s crimes, the manner of his cold character, how he’d enjoyed it. He’d said as much to her first time they met; _‘I slit one of their throats and it felt fucking good to watch the blood pour.’_ Yet she still found it unnerved her. Sitting opposite a purely clinical sociopath and listening to him describe his crimes with pleasure. Frankly, if she was unphased by it, she’d be _more_ concerned about that.

She begins to wonder if Kylo would ever stop scaring her? _Of course he won’t, you foolish girl, she chides herself._ He’d almost crafted a fine hobby by now out of unnerving her when he purred lowly, dangerous things and dark desires at her. She woke up last night, very certain a pair of dark, terrible, yet active eyes were the source of depravity that tore her from sleep. _Almost as if she could feel that big tatted hand of his crushing her throat under it’s python grip._ She woke up gasping for air and drenched in sweat.

She can recall so vividly now off by heart, how those fathomless eyes of his glimmer with ink black malice, mingled with amusement when he clocked her fear. It makes her shiver. It makes her want to run away. And it so desperately shakes her to her core, she cannot help but be _entranced_ by it. Nothing before had ever made her feel that way. No man had made her feel like that either…

Then again, there were _no men_ like him.

“I didn’t realise his case was _so_..” Her words die in her throat. She knew what she wanted to say, _brutal_. That was Kylo Ren all over. Every inch of him. _Brutal._

Walker raises a brow at her. He reaches for his drink, and steeples the glass in his fingers. He nudges his chin across the bar.

“I don’t usually frequent…establishments like this. But for the questions you wanted to ask me, its best that I remain on the _cautious_ side _…_ ” He warns.

That made her blood start shooting through her body like hot pins and needles. Pumping out pain from her terrified little heart. She looks across the bar warily… Walker leans in across the table from her.

“Listen. If you’ve got half a brain in that pretty head, like I _strongly suspect_ you have, don’t dig too deep into what, _or who_ , put Ren away.”

Evie froze. Too scared to even take notes. She leaned in, sparing a little glance over her shoulder to the people in the booth behind him. They were too busy munching down greasy fried food from plastic baskets and guzzling beer to notice them.

“Off the record of course. You suspect something?” She asks. _Maybe this wasn’t just any ordinary prison case…_

He scoffs. “I thought you were a writer?” He asks with a face that seemed to be assessing her motive.

“I _am_ a writer. But unlike most of the men who work for my publishing house I actually have a moral conscience when it comes to the things and more importantly, the _people_ , that I write about… I write because I want to tell the _truth_. Not because I want to sell out for more money, a bigger office, and a pay rise.” Evie promises. Walker’s smile tugs up. He knew liars. He spent almost 40 years watching people lying to him. He knew enough to know that she wasn’t tugging on his chain. _She was a sincere little thing._

He wets his lips before he continues.

“All I know, is that Ren had _everyone_ against him to put him away. He had a _team_ of rich lawyers at his back. He had a previously spotless record. But he stood on that stand and had no qualms about pleading guilty to what he’d done. _No_ resistance. He’d butchered five men and he was _never_ going to deny that. It’s simply not in his nature.” He explains

Evie nods. That sounded familiar.

“As far as I can tell, corrupt judges, and police officers in pocket helped to ensure that he went away for a long, _long_ time. He’d killed some allies of some very powerful people, and I think they wanted him out of sight, out of mind.” He tells.

“Word was, it was some rich, old money type, who paid an awful lot to ensure that his murdered allies were well avenged. He testified against him, and lobbied _hard_ against Kylo. He was always going to end up in prison. Only now, the old man seems to have done a runner for long since passed crimes. Snake? Or snipe, I think it was… anyway…No one’s heard of him in _eons_ , according to my buddy in homicide. He’d slunk off to some far corner of the world years ago, with his tail between his legs for some misdemeanour or other…”

She’d _never_ doubted Kylo had committed the foul acts that his file scripted. He was a lifer. He’d see the inside of that prison til he reached old age. She took a deep breath. Trying to make sense of all this information…

Only, her pathetic self didn’t think a smart, intelligent man like him should be worthy of being doomed to remain a caged beast _all_ his life.

“He committed five murders without, even _a hint,_ of remorse, it seems the best place for him to be, is in prison…” Evie tells.

Walker nods in obvious agreement.

“But it was a _corrupt_ system that hurried him there…” He speaks up.

Her head was swimming.

“What did _you_ make of it all?”

“Honestly?” Walker says.

“I was at that crime scene. I was shielding behind the cop car with a gun raised at Ren when he walked out of that house, his clothes drenched in blood. He dropped to his knees and he didn’t even _try_ to resist arrest. That’s fool proof.” He accepts.

 _Or_ , Evie thinks, _it’s a man who knows how his situation looks..._ She lets him continue on.

“…What wasn’t however, was the fact that even if there was a decent defence for him, it was ripped to shreds without question. Jury, Judge, witnesses who weren’t even _at_ the crime scene gave evidence against him. _That,_ to me, is suspicious.” He clarifies.

“How may witnesses were there?” She seeks.

“For what Ren did to those men? _None_. Just the five who lost their lives.” He says.

Evie frowns. “Long and short of it is… _Whoever_ it was who paid those people off, made _damn_ sure they were getting their money’s worth.” She offers. He nods in confirmation.

“There was always someone willing to make sure Kylo Ren took the _fall_ for what he did.” Walker explains to her.

To Evie, that sounded like Kylo was only _half_ to blame.

 _“Look_. I’ve always said as much, don’t think the man’s innocent, _not_ by a long shot. He has blood on his hands that’s for damn sure. It just worries me what kind of justice system sent him down. Because I think in my heart of hearts, it was _a crooked_ one. And every man, no matter who he is, deserves a fair trial if he’s crossed to the wrong side of the law.” Walker enlightens.

“I can understand.” She empathises. “I don’t like to think something as crucial as the criminal justice of judicial system is rotten.” She confirms. “I’ve spent half my career visiting inmates and prisoners… and I can’t think of anything worse than being innocent for a crime and being stuck in an institution like theirs. Not that Kylo strikes me as _innocent_. And I can only hope that I’m telling people the honest truth about _why_ men were put there…” She tells meekly.

He nods lightly.

“With Ren, you won’t go _far_ wrong before he lets you know it.” He eludes. “He’s a manipulative bastard, but if he trusts you to be telling him the truth, he’ll do you the courtesy of atleast being honest.” He makes plain.

She blinks and nods. Gripping her glass as she took another sip. The fizzy fire heat of cola and whiskey stinging her nose and throat with fluid warmth as it slid down.

“He’s very, _calculative_.” Evie tells him quietly.

Walkers flat eyes seem to perk up to that.

“You’ve been to _see him?”_ he asks.

She confirms with a timid nod. He smirks.

“He would’ve made mincemeat out of you _, kid…”_ He tells suavely as he sups his bourbon down. She swallows nervously.

“He’s certainly a challenge.” Evie tells. Offloading some of the weight of Kylo’s _disastrous effect_ on her, that had been pressing down her chest these past few weeks. _She quickly came to find she didn’t mind it._ What was worse was that she had no earthly living soul to tell about how she felt. If she was alive, Evie was certain that her mother in all her glory, would’ve sat her down for a big fat wedge of her lemon and cherry cake, and a steaming teapot full of tea, and wouldn’t let her leave the comfort and safety of the kitchen table until she’d spilled her secrets. She missed that.  She missed conversing with someone who understood her down to the very _marrow_ of her bones. She wondered sadly if she’d ever have that again… _Maybe one day..._

Walker eyes her keenly.

“He can charm the best of them. That’s what was always _so_ dangerous. He’d croon honey in your ear til he gets you close, then he shoves _a knife_ into your spine just as you think you’ve come to know him.” He justifies.

Evie just watches him as he drains his glass.

She thought about how he’d charmed her. Their last meeting; he’d practically purred to her across the table about the fact she’d never been _properly fucked_ … The shame of it still brought heat rising hot to her cheeks. The way he’d looked at her when he called her _kitten_ , it made her want to _melt_. After that sordid display, she’d practically ran out to her car. Sat gripping the steering wheel with clammy hands for ten minutes just trying to remind herself that there was a dangerous, bored, convict just playing _his games_ with her for his own entertainment. There wasn’t a lot else to sustain him, _why not flirt, toy, and play with the pathetic little writer who came to intrude on his privacy?_

“My boss tasked me with collecting Ren’s personal story for a memoir series we’re working on...” She tells lowly, and with little pride. She had been glad she’d been chosen to undertake this task. She’d fought tooth and claw to get to her position at the patriarchal publishing company she’d yearned for so long to be a part of. And now he was there, she felt like she was fighting for scraps half the time.

“Truth be told, I think my he just wanted something to put me and my writing to _the test._ He gave me the hardest convict, the hardest case. He’s doomed me to fail and, I don’t know where else to turn, _really…”_ She tells him openly. Nervously twisting her pen in her hands.

“…On the other side of it though. And I know its.. bordering on _insane._ But, Kylo fascinates me… _and_ terrifies me.” She points out rightly.

“From the first moment I sat down to interview him he looks like he wants to strangle me, but, there’s something _so wounded_ about him its almost _pitiful_. A man as he was, reduced to a mere six digit number and a charge sheet.” She lets out.

Feeling like she’d spoken _too much_ , _let too much loose,_ she sips her drink. Remembering she was talking to, basically, a perfect stranger.

 “The only advice I can give you for Ren? Just keep _on_ at him…. He’s let you get this far, there must be something about you _he likes_. Trusts in. Or else, as I understand it, he would’ve started ripping off _body parts_ by now.” Walker smiles lightly.

Evie takes a deep breath.

“I was just surprised at how little there was to _go on._ His files are _so_ scant, I can scarce believe it. I interviewed a convict at Ashcroft last month, for a simple burglary, and his file was _four_ volumes long.” She says in disbelief.

Walker tilts his head at her. Slams his drink back, and wipes his hand on the back of his mouth.

“Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? _Not now_ …” He says. Twirling the glass in the circles of condensation on the table. Not making eye contact with her.

She frowns. “I don’t understand…”

“His case is under review _right as we speak_ ….” He speaks plainly. Revelling in her surprise.

Evie’s stomach shrivelled up like a dried leaf.

“Under review?” She blinks. When she spoke, her voice sounded disjointed. Far off. Like it was underwater, ten feet away from her sensible head.

“You didn’t _know_ about this?” He asks.

She bobbles her head like an idiot.

“His team of _very_ expensive lawyers are combing through them. Something about a DNA, cross contamination of evidence. He may have confessed to the crime, but they can no longer pin him to the scene, evidence is turning up a blank, and the original witnesses who testified are nowhere to be found, its casting judgement on his testimony, they can qualify that he was wrongly accused based on flimsy evidence, and that the prosecution paid off members of the jury …”

She was certain she could _taste_ her heart in her tonsils.

“Re-trial will take months though, surely?” She asks. The judicial and criminal system moves at a snail’s pace at best of times.

“Of course.” Walker insists.

“But if his lawyers find one weakness in his case, which will be his _lack_ of witnesses to those five murders, and if they are all worth and _as_ good as the _extortionate_ amounts of money he’s paying them, they’ll find a clause, and then.....he’ll _walk_ …” Walker promises with an edge to his voice.

Evie gulps. _Kylo, might get freed from prison?_

She doesn’t know why, but that thought _haunts_ her all night long…

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

He parked in the _usual_ spot. Far from the house, hidden down an old track, car concealed by a tangle of greenery and low bushes. No light catching on windows or paintwork to give his game away. He strode quickly through the woods, his powerful, suited legs carrying him high with purpose.  He could feel twigs and leaves crunching underfoot, the soft muggy heat of summer made the ground damp.

He wasn’t worried about being seen or heard. The nearest neighbouring cottage was miles away, and he’s been diligently watching all night. He watched her scurry home, and then he’d watched her leave not thirty minutes later. The house now empty and dark. Night had fallen over it, soft and quiet. No gentle honey gold glows lit up the windows. No music softly hummed in the kitchen as she cooked. No study light on til the small hours as she sat at her desk, overlooking the window.

He rounds the perimeter of her front garden, and unlatches the creaking little gate and lets it swing open. He’s gotten used to the noise it makes now. There was more, too. The patch of buckled floorboards, covered by a worn, bohemian floral rug by the bottom of the stairs that squeaked when his foot trod it. The back door handle that caught in the lock when it was twisted. A slight patch of damp crinkling the wallpaper on the hallway wall. The wobbly banister stop. A chip or two in the painted skirting boards. The place wasn’t shabby or in neglect, it actually felt like a very well loved house. Just needed a fix or two in a few places. He’s become so accustomed to _all_ the odd quirks and characterful features of her cosy little home.

How many times now, had he come in whilst she was out, eight? Maybe nine times? He’d never bothered to keep count.

He loved the scent of the flowers that tantalised his senses as he walked up the path to the front door. Sweet blossoming nectar and honeyed lilac. Her whole house reeked of it too. Warm sunshine and lilac flowers. It filtered through the crack under every door and every window, so now the whole of her home was perfumed with it. He steps up onto the porch and brazenly heads for the front door, yanking open the screen door, already reaching for the lock pick tools stowed in his pocket. He sunk his knees to a crouch and jimmied the old lock twisting the tools, searching for that sweet spot he knew off by heart as he’d done so before. He was after all, an _expert_ at finding peoples sweet spots.

A grin breaks his lips when he hears the tumblers shift and click. _Just like that and he was in_.

He stands and swings open the door. The net curtains covering the window in the door lazily drifted and swayed from the other side as he pushed his way in. He pockets his tools and saunters in. Peering around at the sight of her cherished little home shrouded in darkness. _Still. Quiet._ The only noise coming from chittering birds far off in the woods. Aswell as the crickets humming their croaking melody on her lawn. The air in here is hot and sticky tonight, the warmth of day just starting to seep away as night takes over with its cool crushing grip. He feels it stick the back of his shirt collar to his neck, sweat starting to gather there.

He starts for the study, directly to his left. Ducking under the moulded archway and into the beloved space that he knew was one of her favourite spots in the house. Bookshelves crowded the walls. Piled in stacks on the floor where she’d run out of space. Crammed in here is a squidgy looking old sofa too. Covered in granny style embroidered cushions and a ratty worn wool blanket that looked like it had come off the Ark.

_She really clung on tight to her sentimental objects. Cute._

She curled up on that sofa at night sometimes and read her books. Or she threw a blanket over her feet and sat at her laptop. Her little touches, reminders, of her were everywhere in this room. Post-its stuck everywhere, paperwork messily unorganised in the intray, a cracked leather fila fax, pots of blossoming little houseplants sat well -watered and happy on the desk, a tube of her favourite hand cream there too. He picks up the small tube and looks at the flavour. _Geranium and Lemon_. He smiles, rolling the thing in his hands, lifting the cap to his nose. _Did her sweet, soft little hands smell of this stuff?_

A spare pair of ancient looking glasses lay strewn amongst the nest of papers and spilled open books. As if she’d torn them off hurriedly, having forgotten the time…

_Rushing off somewhere perhaps?_

He tilts his head at the desk, stands the hand cream down. Careful not to disturb things too much, he flips open the cover of the prehistoric fila fax and strikes through the pages to get to todays date; one thing is messily scribbled on the page:  _Sergeant_ _Ron Walker, Eddies Bar, at 9:30._

A smirk curled up one corner of his lips.

“What are you _up too_ now, gorgeous?” He asks aloud to himself.

His fingertip strokes over the indent her shitty biro had left on the page. He taps the scrawl of her writing. Before he reaches into his pocket and sets down the small, rectangular Mont Blanc box on her desk.

 _No more crappy cheap biros for his shy writer_. No. He was giving her a little teasing taste of the finer things.

He gently slaps her diary closed. Leaving it as it was. He was just toying. Doing what he does best. Being a flirt. _Not that he was too concerned with getting caught red handed by her anytime soon._

She’d left not long since, it took a good twenty minutes to get out the woods and possibly thirty or so minutes to get across town to the dump that was the bar in question. That left him a lot of spare time here to _explore_. More time than he needed really, but he wasn’t complaining.

He scanned her desk for any more items of interest. He smiled when he found her typed out notes on Kylo. A sneer left his lips with a chuckle with her scribbles and notes etched onto the paper on the transcripts of her interviews with him. He read over them, before he grew bored and slipped them back where they’d been. It was fascinating to read what she personally reckoned of that big bad man.

Kylo was as fascinating and as all-consuming a black hole. Dark matter that fed on everything it wanted too. He had a feeling the little Ms. Winslow had been perched at the edge of that dark precipice, on the verge of falling in, getting consumed. _If she hadn’t fallen in yet, she would soon. Or had she already?_

Abandoning her busy little study, he heads directly opposite, into the mouth of the kitchen doorway. Looking at family photos and vintage prints in their rustic frames from the walls. Showing him the old farmhouse style of the room. A wooden topped kitchen island dominated that space, cream painted counters and cabinets lining the walls. The sink gurgled from across the room, a shaft of moonlight striking the bleached white porcelain. The air alive with the three or four herbs that sat in the planter on the windowsill. Her pots and pans were strung from a hanging rack above the island, along with a couple of garlands of dried spices, flowers and herbs. Copper pots glinting in the moonlight.

Purely on instinct, he goes for the fridge and swings it open. Warm yellow light and chilled air lighting up the room as he peered inside. Trays of leftovers boxed neatly in Tupperware. Half a cold roasted chicken, potatoes and a hefty amount of fresh homegrown veg and some meat. He knew she grew her own, there was a tiny vegetable patch out back, as he’d discovered the other day. There were also a couple bottles of white and pink wine sat clinking together in the door, rattling when he opened it. He twiddled the necks around to see the names and vintages. He wasn’t surprised to find it was a cheap brand grocery store wine. He smiled and shut the door. Slamming it shut with a soft gush of air coming from it. A _wicked_ little idea pinging in his brain as he’s glimpsed the half empty bottle, used glass and bottle opener on the side near where he stood. His brain abuzz with ideas, stomach tingling _giddy_ with possibility.

_For another time, perhaps…_

He twists around and considers the dark stairs. He’d not been up there yet. He’d glimpsed her in her bedroom plenty of times. Watched her undress. Watched her go to take a shower. But he’d actually never been in the room himself. Now seemed as good a time as any. He strode for the stairs and took them at his leisure. Looking again at more of the family portraits that lined the flowered wall. It was hand painted, he noticed. Did Evie do that? Wasn’t hard to imagine so. Stood bare foot on these stairs in paint splattered clothes, paintbrush in hand as she reached on tiptoes to paint the soft peach roses on the wall. He smirks. She was so _predictable_ to him now.

He came to the landing, and looked directly to his left, seeing her neatly made bed. His cock jerked a little stiffer in his trousers.

_Her bed._

He bit his lip as he stalked slowly into the room. He could imagine her on that bed. He could imagine _himself_ on that bed with her too. Pretty face of hers crushed into the pillows, ass and hips pulled high into the air as he pounds her from behind. Hand dug in her hair as he rutted his hips into her like a sexually starved _beast_. Arching her spine to make her stick that perfect ass out for him to fuck her better. _Oh_ she’d moan for him. She’d scream his name before he was done. She’d be choking on it.

 _Oh, and how she would cum for him too_. He wouldn’t stop fucking her until there was a puddle of them combined under her. Dripping slick down her slippery hot thighs. With every scream, gasp or groan she gave him, he’d pound _harder_. He’d abuse that poor little pink clit of hers like it had _never_ been before. _He’d use her in ways no other lover of hers would have even dared._ Wringing every ounce of pleasure, and cum, out of her that he could manage. Make her say his name. Force her to groan out that she’d never had another man like him…

He turned and saw her chest of drawers opposite the end of her bed. He tugs one of the solid drawers open and rifles through. Nothing but neat piles of clothes stacked in orderly lines.

 _Until_ , that is, he gets to the bottom one. There, buried under a cosy sweater, right at the back. Is a little zipped up pouch. He smiles and lifts it out, fingering the zip, he tugs it open with one hand and peers inside.

He chuckles.

Her sex toy was practically gathering cobwebs and _dust_. He doubted it had been used this calendar _year_.

It was a little finger massager. A tiny vibrating bullet that when he flicked the switch, _barely_ , hummed to life in his hand. It was weedy, weak and practically _primordial_ as far as sex toys went.

 _“Oh, baby_.” He chuckles. “I can get you something far better than this shitty little thing to get you off...” He smirks.

Turning it over in his hands. He switched it to silence. Shoved it back in the pouch, and replaced it to it’s snug little hiding place in the drawer. Folding it back under her fuzzy knitted jumper.

He made a mental note to order her something much more, _powerful_. A Hitachi wand maybe, or the most expensive, effective bullet vibe he could find from coco de mer. _He wasn’t going to skimp on a toy for his little toy._

He crossed to her wrought iron bed, his eyes taking in the antique, distressed headboard. It was pretty, another faded family heirloom, he guessed.

He could see her hands clutching onto that frame for dear life as he lay under her and made her _ride_ him. She’d look so _small and cute_ , impaled on his _big_ dick, grinding over his wide hips. He’d cover her round ass with his hands and tug her back and forth on his hard on. Bury his mouth in those pretty tits of hers whilst his cock was burrowed balls deep in her pussy. Splitting her open where she was hot, wet and tight. _And when he’s done?_ He’d _lick_ her clean. _Every fucking inch._ Lap his tongue at every single part of her. Lick up her sweet sweat. Every drop of her cum. Litter her body with bruises from his lips. Soothe the sore little reminders of his hungry teeth with his hot mouth.

He wanted her to pass out from pleasure whilst he was busying himself suckling on those pert pink nipples.

He patted the frame with his hand. Biting his lip at the oncoming semi he had growing restless in his suit trousers. Making his blood slow and sluggish. His skin itching for something he could do to relieve the sexual tension pushing up under his skin. Tightening his groin and making him _ache_.

He can’t resist it. He braces one knee on the bed, and bends to sink his nose into one of her pillows. A pure wall of her fragrance hits him. _Evie_. He groans at the scent of her. A mashing amalgamation of her shampoo, some tart citrus face cream, and that divinely simple geranium and honeysuckle perfume she wore. He took a deep breath, groaning deeper, his free hand going to palm his erection. _So much for trying to gather information tonight_. Too many _tempting_ images, scents and thoughts of her stirring his cock to life…

He turns and sits on the edge of her bed, his hips keening into the caress of his heavy hand. He looks at her dresser opposite. An antique, again most likely a hand me down piece of furniture like most things in this house were. A crumple of clothes piled atop it caught his eye. Sat next to her big oval vanity mirror. Everything else about her house was neat and orderly. So that must have been a freshly removed pile of clothes which she couldn’t spare the time to put away, when she was home earlier.

He stands and crosses to them. Pulling apart the pile in his hands. Silky sheer tights, an undone blouse, a boring grey skirt that felt woollen and scratchy under his palms. Then, a practically _virginal_ white bra fell to his feet.

 _Shit_. Just when he thought he couldn’t yearn for her tits any fucking more. She had to go and make him wonder how they looked plainly presented in those modest, lace trimmed cups. _Delicious he bet_.

Made his mouth water to think about yanking the cups down whilst it was still on her. Shoving his mouth down upon them, his scratchy facial hair rubbing a stinging burn on her soft skin, until it chafed, as he tugged on those nipples of hers with his teeth. They were patterned with small little stitched daisies too. _Fuck_ , she was really winding up his innocence kink. _Yet…_

That bra was _nothing_ compared to the pair of silky cotton panties he now held in his hands.

_Plain. Baby Blue. Brief cut, cotton panties._

He drops the rest of her clothes, and lifts that delicate scrap of cotton to his face. His cock was throbbing, straining _so hard_ against his underwear now, he wondered it didn’t tear through. His balls felt heavier and tighter than iron. Pushing up against his body, desperate to be emptied _soon._

_He wished he could empty them across her body. He’d fucking paint her with this. All over. Watch it drip off her ass, her tits. He’d watch it drool out her mouth and out that divine pussy, if, he ever got his hands on her._

_Sweet holy fuck._ His eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth salivated. The scent of her _bare_ pussy _._ This was uniquely _her._ Her body _._ The most intimate scent straight from the pretty wet source between her thighs. She smelt far better than any perfume, any body products she used. This was more intimate and so much more fucking hot than any of those other things. It was _raw_.

His hand trembled as he shucked the tab of his fly down, tore open his trousers and shoved his hand down into his underwear, freeing his erection from the confines of the tight fabric. He staggers back to sit on her bed again, groaning desperately when his large hand closed around his hard-on. He stroked lazily from base to head, finding that her name slipped from his mouth when he stroked over the tip. Already leaking pre-come into his hand, drooling with it, streaks of it wetting up and down his length as he stroked harder.

“Oh, fuck, Evie. _Fuckk_ …baby.” He croons, his head dropping back. His free hand with her panties still bunched in his fingers, he lifts to his face again as he jerks his cock. As he moans, open mouthed, he salivates a little onto the fabric. His heavy, hot broken breaths coming out almost like sobs. His thighs shiver when he experimentally rubs his thumb over his weeping head again.

He adjusted on the bed, leaning back, putting her panties down to ruck his expensive shirt further up over his abs, pressing his spread flies open more across his thighs. Slowly stroking all the while he did. Mumbling and cursing.

His eyes rolled into his head again, as he visualised _her…_

He thought about how she’d look on her knees between his legs, with the thick girth of his cock stretching open her spit wet mouth. Her lips wet and ruddy pink from sucking him. Her cheeks smeared wet, sheening in the half-light with spit and his pre-come. He wanted to hear the _filthy_ sloppy, sucking, squelching noises as he fisted her hair in his hand and shoved her head down, deep throating his length as she choked on him. Those fucking precious blue eyes, wetly looking up at him when he told her too. Those small hands of hers digging into his tense thick thighs.

He’d call her a _good girl_ for taking him so well. _It was no easy task, he was fucking hung this was no secret_. Then he’d drag her up by the hair and crush her lips to his. Sucking into her mouth, running his tongue along her teeth, tasting where the salt and tang of his pre come sat on her tongue. He’d ask her if she was a filthy girl. If she enjoyed sucking his cock. Enjoyed the taste of him in her mouth. He’d ask as he runs a thumb along her lips and shoved two of his thick fingers, curling to the hilt in her pussy. See if she was lying to him. _After all, a wet cunt never lied..._

He brought the panties to his face again, unable to help it, his tongue slid out and licked along the crotch. He _growled_. He wanted to taste her. He’d been watching her for nights now. And he’d never so badly wanted to get a woman on her back before. He liked to eat pussy, he liked the feel, the act of it, he was also damn good at it too. but he’d never before _ached_ so badly to get his head between a girls legs. Usually he only thought about what oral sex would get him in return. But with Evie? He _craved_ it.

 _He craved_ to know her taste, how to drive her wild. Attack her clit with his teeth to see _how_ she moans. Lick and suck her labia into his mouth and flood his tongue with the taste of her. Drink down whatever that sweet pussy of hers drooled for him. Make her gush in his mouth, right down his throat. _Eat_ her like a man on death row, and she was _his last_ allowed meal.

_Eat her alive like a fucking animal._

His cock slides slick through his fist. So fucking hard – hot and heavy. She was making a wanton slut out of him and he was _dying_ to let her know it. He’s growing restless with just the _sight_ of her, metres away through the woods at a window. He could only pathetically tug his cock to completion _so_ many times, sat watching her in the woods, or from his car. It would only satisfy him for so long. He was a man, he needed more. He needed _a fix._ He was dying for a touch, a taste.

_He’d taste her til the end of time if he could have his way. Sit her on his face and not let her leave. Make her cum pour into his mouth til it sated him. Eased his hunger._

_Sweet, sweet_ Evie. Sweet Evie and her _sweet_ pussy.

His chest was heaving, he was _so close_. Liable to spill over his fist at any second. He was a mess too, flung back on her bed, grumbling, moaning, sweating. Biting his lip. Hips thrusting up into his hand desperately. Seeking the friction his palm provided. But nothing was good enough for him now, now he’s caught the scent of her, he was like predator catching a trail of his prey in the forest. The scent was not enough. He _needed all_ of her to truly make a meal and sate himself.

Dirty whispers trip from his lips. As if she was here in the fucking room with him.

“That’s it _gorgeous_ \- oh fuck, shit, baby. Fuck yeah, that feels so good…” He whines, his thighs shivering as he fucks up into his hand. His head thrown so back, he felt the sweat slide down his throat. It was muggy in here, too. He’d open a window if he wasn’t so sure he’d moan loud enough to wake the dead when he cums.

Getting closer he fists those fucking innocent panties in his hand, and used them to guide up and down his cock. The silky material sliding quickly up and down his erection. Every vein straining, throbbing, pulsing with the need to cum. He imagined he was fucking up into her silky, hot pussy as she sat trying to write at her desk.

He’d make her glasses askew, fog up, and tear away clothes that were in his way in his quest to get her to cum as he bent her double over her desk. His hips smacking into her, bruising her, bashing her cervix with each thrust. His teeth sinking into the tense, perfumed column of her neck and her shoulder as he spurted his cum _deep_ into her.

He came with a cry, watching his hand jerk away so he wouldn’t ruin the panties, his cum bursting all across his  lap. Trickling down his abs. smeared across his pale scrunched stomach. _Fuck, he was keeping these panties_ _come hell or high water_. He didn’t want to sully their scent with his own.

 _“Shit,_ baby.” He gasps as his hand slows. Cock throbbing to squeeze out every last drop. He bit the panties between his teeth again. The taste wetting under his tongue, giving him a little _sample_  of the cunt he _so_ craved.

He sat up, examining the mess he made. He didn’t get any cum on her bed, thankfully. But a few drops had spattered down onto his shoes and suit trousers. _Fucks sake_ , these were Dolce, too.

He awkwardly half stands and yanks the box of tissues from her night stand into his hands, mopping up his mess.  Uncaring, he threw the remains haphazardly into the waste bin under her vanity dresser.

Idly he smirks and _wonders_ if she’ll catch onto the salty tang of him, _of his cum,_ drying on the discarded tissues later on. _He would be lying if he said he didn’t want her too_.

He stands and rights his clothes in the mirror. Tucking her panties into his pocket. They were half covered in his spit, he _just had_ to take them. They were a _sexy memento_ to him. For him to cherish over.

His attention snapped to the window as he saw headlights wind their way up the drive, cutting across the striped bars of the banister. He darted for her door, hearing her car pull up near the house. Engine purring before she killed it. One thing was apparent; he’d taken _far longer_ than he should’ve… He’d gotten distracted…

_Fuck._

 

 

~

 

Evie trudged up the porch steps, and pulled out her keys to let herself in. To her surprise, her key jammed in the lock. She sighed to herself.

 _“Idiot_ …” She murmurs as she opens the door she must’ve _forgot_ to lock earlier in her haste to go and meet Ron. She throws her keys down on the side table and shucks her back and coat where they belonged. Her bag, by the door. Her coat, hooked up onto the stand.

She doesn’t turn any lights on, why bother? She wants her bed. She wants to slip on her night dress - the heat was sticky and stifling out there now. And then she wanted to take in a few pages of her well-worn copy of ‘ _The Girl with the make believe husband’_ before she goes to sleep.

She merely crosses to the fridge and pulls out a half bottle of wine. She pours a tiny tipple into a clean glass and tips it back. Ruminating on the news Ron had told her tonight.

 _Actually, she’d been trying hard not to ruminate too much on that thought all night._ What would happen _if_ … she chides herself and cuts off her dangerous thought. _He’s a lifer. You’re safe._

Evie crosses to her study to shut down her laptop. She’d just crossed onto the hallway rug, when a creaking floorboard whines. _That wasn’t her moving._ She turns to look at the back door.  _That was the floorboard around by the back porch..._

She watches her back door. It was silent. Still. Just the wind rattling the trees outside as usual.

Shrugging, she carries on into her study. Tipping wine back as she went. Not investigating.

If she _had_ , she would’ve found his big, hulking body pressed with his back flat to the wall just beside her back door. Panting. Shirt still semi unbuttoned. His belt barely done. And her underwear balled up in his pocket. He let the cool night air carve around him, cooling his flushed skin. He looked up to the heavens and fought back a chuckle.

“Soon baby…” he whispers. _“Oh fuck_. I’m gonna have you _so_ soon…” He _pledges_.

He taps the wall beside him gently, for _emphasis_ in his promise _._ Before he slips off silently through her garden, back through the woods to his car. Off into the night as silently as a shadow.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic it’s honestly only just little old me rolling around in my dead dove trash pile wanting a murdery kylo w nipple rings to fuck me senseless.
> 
> Come join me in my non con garbage pile, folks. Gets pretty lonely down here. 
> 
> If you need me; I can be found under a tonne of dirty washing and surrounded by half empty cups of cold tea, and crisp packets. Thinking about what fucked up thing is gonna happen on this next...


	6. Scars & Creeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Kylo is fun (I never want to stop he's so ugh) brb, my trash pile beckons...

 

 

It was hard for someone like Kylo to take to the foreboding institution that was prison. He was a man who thrived in his own space. Not in being shut in with others.

It hadn't been easy. Right from when he was shuffled in, in shackles, on his first day. His skin already crawling with the starchy scratch of the hideous jumpsuit he’d wrangled himself into, rasping against his skin. The powder smell of the itchy thing burning his nose. For a man who felt most at home in a thousand dollar Brioni suit, and tie, this was a fucking all time low for him. He felt it. And it pissed him right the hell _off._

He was escorted in by two thick set guards, his presence surrounded by a throttling, dark cloud of barely restrained fury emanating from his grim expression. They had to go and put full body shackles on him too. A glaring neon sign of humiliation and letting _every_ inmate and guard know he was bad news. His beefy arms linked in front of him, the orange fabric around his arms and thighs stretched to the limit by his frame. Even the biggest size uniform they’d given him still pinched and pulled in places. His dark, dead gaze centred straight ahead of him down the dank hallway, even with the clamour and commotion that was breaking out in the cells around him as he was walked through.

Cries of _“_ Fresh meat _.”_ And other shouts of “Hey _, pretty_ boy _.”_ setting his teeth on edge. He doesn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. If one of them so much as came near him, or tried to touch him, _god help them._ He’d snap bones _or_ limbs. That was a guaranteed promise.

They bring him to the barred wall of a cell, one bunk already filled with a scrawny, lean guy with an angular face covered in scars, one weedy calligraphic tattoo scrawled on his neck that he probably thought made him look like a hard guy. The guard shoves Ren’s paltry box of belongings down onto the bottom bunk and sneers for him to make himself at home as his colleague undoes the shackles and sets him loose. Scrawny guy is reading a magazine and trying to size up the sheer heft his new bunk mate.

“You’re rooming with O’Malley here, Ren. _Try_ and get along with each other.” They sneer. Shoving Ren in the cell. Or, atleast they _tried._ Those muscles and that strength didn’t _go anywhere_ itdidn’t want too.

With a clang of the cell door, they are shut in together, with the soundtrack of dirty comments coming from surrounding cells about O’Malley having a new ‘boyfriend’ to play with and thus; the start of Kylo’s indeterminable life sentence commences…

The start of his troubles begin when his smarmy cell mate slithers down from his top bunk and does his best to be all top dog with Kylo. He was doing nothing but sitting on his shitty bunk and looking at the few things that he’d bought with him. No photos. No mementos of home. Barely anything rattled around in his possessions box. But his attention was drawn to the puny man who was now _trying_ to intimidate him, stood opposite.

Kylo raises his eyes to him, but otherwise, he stays stock still.

“I wanna make one thing clear. You’re not the boss of this place. _I am_. And if you get in my way, I’ll shiv you in the ribs. Ya _hear me?_ ” His accent drowning thick with a dumb jersey lilt.

Kylo gives him nothing but icy silence.

That night, O’Malley’s sleep is rudely disturbed when something sharp tears across his neck and then a waterfall of wet, warm. _Blood._ It pours down his chest as he clutches onto his throat, choking for dear life. His eyes bugging out of his gaunt face, that was now splattered with drops of his own blood. A tatted arm wrenches in his collar, the pathetic creep actually _whimpers_ when he’s pulled close, and Kylo’s mouth is by the snakes ear as he rasps in a calm voice;

“Oughta be more careful where you keep those shiv’s of yours. You threaten me again, I’ll cut your shitty lying tongue _out._ " He promises. 

Then he sneers _. "_ Ya hear _me?”_ He mocks.

The guards bustled in to soundly bruise and beat him with nightsticks before dragging him away. Kylo sneers to himself after they lock him in solitary. His face was busted, lip bleeding, eye swelling. But he _didn’t care._

That little encounter earns him four weeks. And on his _first day_ too. O’Malley survives the encounter - _only just_ \- as Kylo had intended, he’d cut to scare, not to kill _._ They managed to get him to the infirmary and pump him full of enough blood to keep him alive. _S_ _hame._

Kylo gets a new bunk mate after he’s out of the hole. And it comes as no shock that that circumstance is _short_ lived also.

Mainly because his next bunk mate is a flexing, preening, greasy haired prick called Vaughn who thinks he’s gods gift to the world. He was fresh meat too, and hadn’t heard about the ill-fate of his predecessor. He _talks._ Rabbits on and on, non-stop. The guy was a paranoid malignant narcissist who was locked up for numerous counts of sexual assault.

Kylo was in the canteen one night, trying not to let his stomach turn at the inedible slop they called food, when he heard his slimy companions voice rising above the din. _Bragging_. Gloating about the size of his dick. Taking pride in the nature of his assaults on all those women. Thinking everyone would be impressed. Calling them out for being sluts who wanted it, who’d liked what he did, _begged_ for it like bitches in heat, who’d wanted him but just didn’t know it. Kylo takes a deep breath to steady himself. Rage started to boil up in his stomach, seeping into his bloodstream.

They are barely back in the cell, when Kylo grabs the back of Vaughn’s greasy, dark head and slams it forcefully into the cell bars with a heavy clang, again, and again and until he see’s those white cell bars drip _red_. He lets the guys limp, semi-unconscious body slip from his grip, slumping to the floor. He kicks him in the ribs for good measure. Gripping the bars with bloodied hands and watching as the guards rushed, keys jangling as they quickly tore into the room.

Grumbles and groans, _whines,_ sound from the floor from his trembling lips, something along the lines of “You’re fucking insane.”

“Shut the fuck up, Vaughn, you pile of narcissistic _shit._ ” Kylo sneers down at him. His foot slamming into the guys back. He spits on the low life scum before the guards reach him and yank him away to solitary. Atleast he’d get some fucking peace and quiet. _At last._

He’s certain that one of the guards broke two of his ribs before that particular escort. Vaughn had lasting trauma and slight brain damage. But it was _worth it._

There is _no_ third bunk mate.

He is prodded and poked by shrinks and declared too dangerous to be on D-wing.

They finally saw past the _façade_ he sold everyone, finally learned that he was not a safe man to have in captivity. If they wanted to avoid daily riots, they were safer locking him up _without_ company. He is moved to a room all of his own on the lifers wing. Security is stepped up. Less privileges, less yard time. Strictly supervised leisure time. As long as he gets his access time to the gym, and the yard he doesn’t care. They were his privileges, _his ways of coping with this shitty place and people._

Two weeks after he’d settled into the lifers wing came about the incident that leaves him his impressively morbid scar from forehead to shoulder.

He had been out in the yard, minding his own business as per usual. Kicking gravel underfoot and letting the rare sunshine warm his face. He’d just walked past a group of guys gaggled around by the basketball court, trading smokes and drugs, probably. He ignores the shouts at first, cause he thinks that they can’t possibly be levelled at him. But they _were._

“Hey, rich scum, I’m _talkin_ to you.” Comes a harsh shout.

Kylo stops, turning to see a hulked up bodybuilder a golden fuzz buzzcut on his head.

He had a mean, flat face. Tribal rings marring his big tanned biceps, sauntering towards him with all the confidence of a god. Lifers weren’t allowed to interact with each other much. Likelihood was they’d heard that he was new on the wing, and were a powerful gang taking the chance to _introduce_ themselves.

Kylo looks the man dead in the eye. He didn’t move. He didn’t back down. He simply _looked_ at the trouble that was ambling his way.

“They say you’re insane, _crazy_ rich boy. Killed five guys. You think that makes you crazy _huh?_ ” He mocks, his gaggle of ugly companions laughing along with him. Kylo quickly sized him up. Fascist tattoos, white trash religious fanatic, dumb drawling accent. This guy was all _bark,_ and no _bite._

He watches himself get sized up by the no-brains asshole. Eyes taking in his hulking muscles and his dark tattoos.

“I’m sick of rich shit like you _crowding_ up my yard. Walking around like y’all are fucking special. Well in here? You’re _not_. You don’t mean _shit_ to no-one, you ain’t dangerous, or crazy. You’re a fucking pussy, and don’t fucking forget it. You’re in my yard now, rich fuck, you do what I tell you too. I _own_ this place…”

“I wouldn’t have picked the ugliest motherfucker to run the yard. But _congrats_ …” Kylo growls.

Tension rises high. Prickling in the air. Some people scarper out of the way around them, and his band of shaved gorillas stand up straighter and start to surround him. There were four of them shuffling around their so called pack leader. That doesn’t scare him. Nothing scares him. _He’s had worse odds_. The leader pulls a crudely made shiv from his pocket.

Kylo doesn’t register it. He merely continues to look at the guy. But his fists _clench white._

“What’d you say to me, _rich shit?”_ He barks. Spit flying from his misshapen teeth.

“You deaf too?” Kylo asks stepping toe to toe with the man.

“Yeah, I’m rich shit. I’d rather be rich shit than a redneck _cunt_ like you. Run along, ain’t you got a cousin of yours in here to go _fuck?_ ” Kylo snaps calmly at him.

Daring him on. Jerking his head over his shoulders at his companions in insinuation.

The guy socks Kylo across the face, blood pours into his mouth. Kylo kicks his ugly assailant to his knees in the dirt, swings at his legs, knocking him off balance. Somehow the other four manage to wrangle him kneeling after he got in a few swipes. A few broken noses, shredded knuckles. He gets one of them with a head butt that knocked them on their stupid ass, sprawled away on the ground with a bloodied nose.

But then they hold him steady as the gang leader knots his beefy fingers in Kylo’s hair and wrenches his head back. Kylo bares his red teeth and snarls to get off him. Black eyes brimming cold, dead and wild. Blood already dripping, staining his teeth, rolling down his chin. Red mist clouding his eyes beyond any other sight.

The guy playfully weighs the shiv in his hands. A toothbrush crudely split into with a razor.

“Let’s put a scar on that pretty face, rich _pussy_.” The guy levels at him with a shit eating smile.

And so he does, he holds Kylo’s forehead and carves in _deep._

Kylo tries to grit his teeth and not give them the satisfaction of shouting. But the pain is _too_ great. He shouts, he writhes, he tries to _claw_ at the meaty hands that held him. To no avail. The guy laughs at him in sick pleasure as he comes to his neck. His adams apple leaps when he grazes his throat with the tip of the knife. When he gets to his shoulder he slashes outwards, quickly drawing the blade down over his upper chest and shoulder.

He is thrown forwards into the dirt. Bleeding like hell. Every nerve in his body shrieking in pain. Fizzing with hatred and adrenaline and _rage_. White hot fury souring the back of his tongue, along with the hot metal copper of blood pouring into his mouth.

Where he’d be kneeling it had begun to fall down and stain his thighs, and it was rushing off his face like a macabre waterfall. It dripped off his fingers, and in rivulets down his arm. It pattered down his side from his face as he heaves himself up. His head hung and he watched it slowly taken up into his jumpsuit - orange blossoming into dark crimson like a fading sunset. 

One hand he hooked steady on his ribs, looking downtrodden, beaten, _defeated_. Curled into himself on the yard floor.

The leader crouches by him. Hands covered in Kylo’s blood. As was the sticky bloodied shiv he wiped on his trousers. He watched Kylo hunched over in the dirt, sneering at him.

“You got anything else you wanna say to me, Rich little _pussy?”_ He spits at Kylo.

By now alarms were blaring around them and the yard is starting to empty as more guards are summoned to help curb the fight.

Kylo spits a mouthful of blood at his feet, looking shaky and weak. _Submissive, even_. Eyes glaring up at him through his half pale, half bloodied face. Hair matted with dirt and caked with blood.

He looked like a _wounded_ animal.

He slowly shifts his hand forwards in the gravel, steadying himself on all fours.

“Actually…” Kylo wheezes. His dark eyes burn and flicker like lit gunpowder.

He strikes.

His hand darts out and grabs the shiv, and with no hesitation, he drives the thing down and plunges it to the hilt in the guys thigh and _twists_. He hears the plastic snap. Embedded the sharp thing in the wound. He doesn’t care. He want’s blood. He wants to see it. _Wants to feel it drip off his hands_.

He rears up onto his feet and pummels the guy with hit, after hit. He hears bones break, feels skin split and bruise under his hands and he doesn’t let up. The crowd of his friends try to yank him off but its no use. The guys shrill screams pierce louder and louder and still Kylo _doesn’t_ let up. He keeps on. Pounding, kicking and beating. He can hear harsh shouts echo around them. He’s sure he’s broken ribs, a wrist, collarbone, possibly his nose and his jaw. His face is a caved in mess of bone, mangled skin and blood.

 _“Yeah_ , I still got something to say to you. White trash…” Kylo sneers. Blood dripping from his mouth and face, onto the man below.

“You come near me again and I’ll be delighted to rip more parts off you, piece by _piece_...”

His screams torn to _shrieks_ when Kylo sinks down and rips away a chunk of his cheek with his teeth. Spitting the chunk of flesh and gobbets of black oozing blood at one of his friends who looms close and tries to get him off.

Hands yank into him, wrench him away. Eight pairs of hands. Four guards. That’s what it _took_ to battle Kylo’s rage when he got going. Four grown men and they _still_ struggled to pry him away. He is hauled off to the infirmary where they begin to treat his wounds, stitch up his face and call Finch to come and prod him with yet more questions. 3 months solitary after he healed.

If he wasn’t labelled as crazy with inmates before, he’s sure _as hell_ earnt that reputation after that altercation.

The thug who attacked him was transferred to the ADX upstate. And he is, finally much to his reprieve, given a wide birth from other inmates. They leave him alone and watch from a distance. Morbidly fascinated by the man who’d started one of the worst, bloodiest yard fights the prison had seen in years. Gangs left him alone. Smart asses kept their mouths shut around him. His name was tossed around the prison in whispers like a forbidden taboo. His hulking frame and brooding demeanour attracted attention from any newbie asking who he was. People were quick to correct them. His reputation quickly became solidified;

_Don’t mess with Ren. Don’t look at him the wrong way, or not even god can help you._

He fell into his routine after a few months. He had his own cell, his own space. He had his privileges that only just kept him _sane_. He didn’t have to mix with anyone. He settled, _if_ he could call it that. He didn’t cause any trouble, save for those who came to interrogate him with annoying questions. And that _minor_ incident when he stabbed a pen through Finch’s hand. But then again, he did hate the mans guts and the feeling was mutual.

Kylo hated him. Hated his sloppiness. Hated his lazy attitude. Hated that _shitty_ cologne of his, combined with his stench of flop sweat, that burned his nostrils like acid whenever the fat asshole came near him. He was crooked too. He had locked people in solitary for no reason whatsoever for his own sick pleasure, hoping the warden didn’t pick up on it. If he did, he made up excuses. When Kylo went there, atleast he knew he deserved it, because he’d drawn blood or broken bone. But he’d seen Finch or some of the guards beat inmates to pulp for _a hell_ of a lot less.

He clung hard to the things that kept him lucid. Which was his workout time. Nine times out of ten, he could be found in the gym. The drab, echoing, sweat scented room that was always freezing. A dank grey, concrete basement, filled with years of out of date gym equipment.

He liked working up a sweat, purely for the fact it kept him warm. He’d just finished pounding through his 15k on the ratty old treadmill. Now he was getting started on bench pressing his usual trained limit, when Finch barged open the door and plodded his way over to him.

“Ren, _visitor_ …” He barks down at him. Two guards trailing after him ready to shackle him. He sounded bored as per usual, leaning one arm on the non-mobile part of the machine. Picking his teeth as he did. Today’s shirt was a dowdy brown, teamed with a disgusting blue tie that had a flowering coffee stain on it.

The black pit where his heart should be lifted a little when he heard the word ‘ _Visitor.’_

_My, but his kitten was a keen one._

He growls as he lifts up once more, making him wait. Feeling the sweat slide down his forehead, sticking to his white tee, and down his colossal arms. His spotter tries to help him guide the weights back into the hold. Kylo tells him to fuck off.

“I forget, you have _no_ manners.” Finch snipes at him rudely. Knowing full well what would happen if Ren retaliated in front of two guards. A swift clip around the cheekbone with a nightstick, that’s what he’d get, if he retorted.

Kylo grits his jaw. He’s just spent the last half an hour lifting the damn thing. He didn’t need help at this point. His arms strained and he hooks the weights back where they belonged.

“How’s the wife?” Kylo asks his shrink curiously. Finch glowers down at his cruel jab.

His wife had run away with a truck driver from Colorado six months ago. Whatever in the first place, possessed a woman marry that impotent, balding, sadistic, fat _fuck,_ Kylo had _no clue_.

He sits up feeling his muscles stretch and fit into place. His big orange legs split either side of the bench. His stomach scrunched under the tight top that was drenched with sweat. He had the sleeves knotted about his middle.

The guards descended on his arms and clapped him in cuffs. Doing them up so they cut into his skin. Biting into his wrists. He swings a leg over the bench and towers to his full height. Shuffling after the terrible threesome. Finch leading the way to the interview room. The guards and the doctor made chit-chat all the way there. Kylo was largely ignored.

With every step that jolted through his body, the closer he got to the interviewing room, he felt his smile growing. His groin tightened with the thought of seeing her. Seeing his _timid Ms. Winslow._

Just as he was disregarded, he in turn, flouts their conversation as it happens around him. But he tunes in when he catches onto their remarks.

“You should see the sweet little writer whose coming to see this one. _Fuckin_ ’ gorgeous.” Finch leers filthily to the guards. Not even turning to acknowledge Kylo. Holding his cupped hands out by his chest to signify he was talking about her rack.

“Hey, I’m married, Doc.” One of the guards points out with a grin.

“ _I was_ married _._ I’d still bend that fucking cute ass over a desk and _do her_ …” Finch smirks. Laughing like a jackal. When he opened his mouth Kylo could see his twisted, crooked, coffee stained teeth.  

“Fucking sweetie she is. Got that whole _hot_ librarian thing fuckin’ goin’ for her. Glasses and all.” He drawls with longing. The guards laugh and smile.

 _You so much as touch her_ , _I’ll snap your fucking neck_. Kylo growls to himself. And that was a promise. Hell, it was a _certainty…_

Kylo doesn’t realise he’s staring at the shrink. Only when the man turns and frowns at him does he realise he is.

“ _What?_ You got a problem, Ren?” Finch snipes. Looking at him with derision.

Kylo bites his tongue. Though it had been _months_ since he felt bones or skin shatter under his hands. He was _itching_ to do something to sate the fury simmering in his blood.

“No. No problem.” Kylo lies. 

 _“_ Nice _shirt.”_  He bites out dryly instead. Finch glowers in that _‘Fuck you’_ way of his. Kylo sends that look right back at him. Tugging him into the interview room. He’s marched through the barred doors and he clenches in anticipation to see his writer sat at one of the tables.

It wasn’t her. It was _his_ lawyer.

His middle aged, groomed, bespectacled, ice man of a lawyer. As refined as he was ruthless. In his spotless grey suit and trimmed brown hair. Kylo tilts his head at him. He narrows his eyes.

“This can’t be _good_ seeing you here, Hendricks…” Kylo burrs lowly as he’s shackled in. His big body lowers to the metal seat. Getting ready for whatever this was.

His shark of a lawyer chuckles, and lays down his smartphone for the briefest of seconds. Kylo watches as he withdraws his ludicrously expensive calfskin briefcase, and lays out some files before him.

“On the contrary, Ren. I actually come bearing _good_ news.” He smirks lethally. Unscrewing the cap of his Parker ink pen.

Kylo raised a brow.

 

 

~

 

 

 

The end of her busy work week was heralded in by another long, arduous Friday evening at the public records office. She’d been there so long the clerk coming and to lock up was what proved to jolt her out of her investigative digging. She sighs and sits up, stretching her back, checking her watch and rubbing a knuckle into her tired dusty eyes. She scoops and gathers up the books and paperwork she came in with, and scurries out of the building, arms full of paper and literature as she meekly smiles at the clerk to have a nice weekend.

She totters across to her car, heels clacking on the rain-wet tarmac. She juggles the things in her arms about as she wrangles with the keys that were annoyingly evading the grip of her fingers. She only just manages to bundle everything onto the drivers seat before she loses her hold on it all.

Just her luck that a few pages do escape and slap, sticking to the ground. She curses her life and bends down to retrieve the soggy information she’d just sullied. As she peels it from the sidewalk, the skin on the back of her neck prickles. Hair standing to needle on end as something _uncertain_ washes over her.

The kind of unease that surfaced from having an unknown pair of eyes diligently watching her.

She blinks, brings the paper into her hands, straightening up, she twists around and scans across the parking lot. It was dark, and empty. The only sounds to be heard was distant clamour from the street beyond. The rush of car tyres on the wet tarmac. Clatter of pedestrians, and the bustle of traffic. All of it hummed along in tune to the rain splattered yet humid night. Warily, she climbs into her car and shoves her work over, unsticking a piece of paper from the back of her bare legs.

She shakes her head. She was being silly. She hadn’t heard from that creeper in days. They’d most likely gotten bored with her and moved onto a newer, prettier, more interesting target.

“Story of your life, Winslow…” She mumbles dejectedly to herself. “Even the _unwanted_ creeps leave you eventually...” She japes lightly with herself.

But her nerves are jittery, _prickly,_ and she can’t stop flickering her eyes to her rear view mirror. She’s starting to get cold in the nipping bite of the air that raises goosebumps on her skin. She tries to put thoughts of all those tropes of crazed, psychotic serial killers who lurked in the back of single women’s cars, out her head.

As if she was expected a hooded figure to sit up any second, and reach over with big leather clad hands to _garrotte_ her from the backseat.

She feels better the more distance she puts between her and that dark parking lot. She heads into town, and the warmth and friendliness of its small, local charm washes away her fear. The plastic vines wrapped around every lamppost. The hay bales in front of some stores decoratively announcing the arrival of summer. The Capra-esque, cute quality of her well known little town seeps some warmth and comfort back into her bones. The familiar general stores all neatly turned out for the oncoming business of summer. Having been repainted and tidied weeks in advance. It was the same every year.

Todd’s hardware store that put up the same display of tools and plastic flowers as it had done every summer since she was three. The smallest bank branch ever, which employed one of her favourite people on this earth; George, he was the teller that ironically couldn’t count very well, who’d proudly been at that bank since 1934, he always liked to boast. The hairdressers with its sassy patron, Marge, whose hair colour that changed every other week. Evie slowed the car to a crawl as she turned into the tiny grocery store’s lot. She needed sugary sustenance for her sad single evening alone. Rocky road ice cream and white wine should do the trick.

She steps into the store, waving hello to Flo, on the checkout counter. The old sweetie and most determined harridan who’d been best friends with her dear old gran when she was still alive. Flo had Evie around for her first thanksgiving, after she’d lost her last remaining relative, and been left with no one. That first year the loneliness cut Evie _deep_. Flo had not taken any prisoners. She _wouldn’t_ have anyone she knew, or loved feeling lonesome. She shoehorned Evie into her family gathering, her family was wide and vast as Flo herself was one of six siblings, and Evie was made _more than_ welcome among their ranks. She sent Evie home that night stuffed full of pumpkin pie, clutching enough leftovers to feed an army, and filling her dearest friend to the brim with familial love. Letting her know, that no one who has friends, _ever_ need feel alone.

Evie had an unfortunate  feeling that if Flo’s grandson was a few years older, taller and not so pocked with acne, then wedding bells would’ve started to toll by now. Plus Flo always said he needed a few more years to _grow_ into his jug handle ears.

She breezed through the sunny yellow aisles, tapping across the navy and white tiled floor, her stomach gurgling, reminding her that yet again she’d skipped lunch in lieu of being hunched over a desk pawing over dusty files in the records office. Luckily she had leftovers from last night to reheat through at home. She merely needed a good bottle or two. She grabs an _armful_ , and spends a good few seconds deliberating over cookies and cream, or rocky road. Tapping the toe of her heel, agonising over the choice. Looking down in abject approval at her basket which contained three bottles of wine, and a single meringue pie. Flo’d _tsk_ at her for that.

Her phone chimes in her mac coat pocket.

She hooks her basket over her other arm and reaches in for it. Her blood froze.

“ _Cookies and cream is my preferred favourite, gorgeous_.”

Her head whips up and she spins about, eyeing either end of the frozen aisle. They were shutting soon, it was near eight o’clock. Hardly anyone was shuffling around the place now. Only people who were, were a couple of last minute rushing mothers trailing kids after them. And some older folk queuing up quietly with their canned goods. Evie swallows, quickly she scoops butter pecan crunch ice cream into her basket, and decides to risk a reply;

“Can you see me, right now?” She asks. Their reply darts through quicker than she can comprehend.

“ _Of course I can.”_

“Prove it.”

She swallows, quickly striding to the check-out. She’d feel better if she was near people. She queues up behind a mother trying to get her two squalling kids to behave. Unable to help it, she turns her head, and scans behind her, looking all around the store. Her eyes glancing over every aisle. She couldn’t see anyone that stood out. No lonely figure stood purveying her.

“ _Five foot three. Chestnut red hair. Gorgeous curves to die for, sexy legs. Mac trench coat.”_ Came pinging through in another message.

She was transfixed by her phone screen. Her heart felt like it was pressing on her throat. As if it was suddenly going to beat up and _out_ her horrified mouth.

“Miss?” Comes a soft coo from behind her. At the same time a gentle hand is laid on her shoulder from the patient old timer behind her. She jumps out of her skin.

“Evie?” Flo asks from in front of her too.

She mumbles an apology with red cheeks and lays a hand over the flat of her chest.

She snaps her head up when she sees Flo before her leaning against the counter, eyeing her with a curious expression. She smiles and steps forwards, unloading her basket.

“Sorry Flo. My er- _boss._ ” She waves off, looking frustrated as she slips her phone back into her pocket. Willing it to silence. True to form, Flo does let out a tutt at the contents of her basket. But she bags them up for her anyway, ringing her purchases through.

Her elderly friend also asks her if she needs to see to that boss of hers for working her too hard – as she was looking _far too_ skinny.

“You know if you need, _proper_ , feedin’ all you gotta do is knock on my door, _honey._ Always got me a house full to cook for.” She rolls her eyes, smiling gladly. Her pink rinse scooped back into its usual updo. Her scarlet lipstick contrasting with the blue of her cats eye glasses that sat on the pearly chain around her pale, wrinkled neck.

“Thank you for the offer. _Really_. But all I have the energy for tonight is a glass of wine, my bed, and my book.” She smiles. Flo fondly clutches her hand.

“Alright then sugar. By the way, you was right about that Maeve Binchy. I just finished ‘ _Light a Penny Candle_.’ And loved the whole damn thing!” She croons.

“I knew you’d like it.” She smiles.

Evie’s cheeks warm and she leans over the checkout as Flo pulls her in for a kiss. A great blooming cloud of her essence of roses perfume, mixed with talc, smacks her in the nose like a wall, as it always did. Evie laughs when her friend tells her to scram the hell outta there, so she can serve her other customers.

Evie clutches her paper bag to her chest and steps warily out of the store, into the night. A few pedestrians are crowding the pavement. Everyone most likely on their way back from the town meeting in the hall just down the street. She weaves through crowds, bidding hello’s where they were due to those she knew. She brushed against someone, and called a quick meek apology over her shoulder, slipping away to the store lot.

She is almost at her car when her phone chimes once more. She knows she shouldn’t reach for it, she should just ignore it. Against her gut instinct, she lifts it from her coat.

_“I could smell your hair Evie. Even as I slipped it in your pocket.”_

She almost drops what she was holding. She stares down at her phone with an impossible expression of bewildered disbelief. _They couldn’t be here?_ She opens her car, shoves her things in the seat. Then she darts back for the street, panting as she strode. She comes out to the main street where she’d just walked, scanning left and right, both ways down the road. Her phone was still cradled in her hand. Hung limp by her side. She can’t see anything again. Whoever this was they were doing a terrific job of scaring her. And they certainly knew how to stay _hidden_ , she’d give them that.

She thinks over what they said, and searches her coat pockets. In her left one, her hand brushes something soft, and silken.

Her whole body feels like a nervous pit of worry when she pulls out what it is, and clutches it in her stiff, cold fingers.

There sits a _single_ red rose.

 

~

 

She drives home under a cloud of unease. Checking her mirrors every two seconds. Paranoia hanging over her like a storm cloud. _Were they a few cars back in the same lane? Following her home?_ Mind, if their previous conversation is anything to go by. They already knew where she lived. They knew most everything about her, she was certain. It was disturbing to say the least.

She passes through the dark wood, reassured lightly by the fact that she can’t see the tell-tale giveaway of headlights following after her car. She relaxes a little down into the seat. They were trying to rile her, winding her up. They might have slipped that rose in her pocket at any point throughout the day. Her coat had been folded over the back of the chair in the office, she’d not been near it all day. Nipping in and out for files or books. They were probably just misdirecting her with false information to try and make her panic all the more.

And they had said that hadn’t wanted to hurt, _or_ , scare her. So far they had done the latter, but not the former. She was wary all the same _. What’s to stop the possessed creep slipping into her house at night and slitting her throat whilst she sleeps?_

She grips the steering wheel and wills that ugly thought away. Shaking her head. She chides herself for being moronic just as she pulls into her drive. Shutting off her engine, she sits in the seat for a moment. Surveying over her house now it was fully dark outside. It was fairly still tonight, the forest dewed in wet from the earlier rain. The smell of it still rising from the ground, wetting and chilling the hot air. Raindrops still patter down from the swishing of the swaying trees, where the wetness had been kept on every budding green leaf, now it was being shaken off. A few of them splatter onto her hair and forehead as she wrangles herself out of the car, grabbing her groceries.

She leaves her messy paperwork and research bundled on the car seat. And makes her way through the front gate. It swung open with barely the faintest creak. She frowns down at it. Usually it whined like a _banshee._ She pulls it back and pushes it open again, and nothing. She knew the hinges were well overdue some oil on them. And one of them was rusting away, to the point of nearly falling off. She’d been meaning to mend it for months now. She peers down and sees a brand new hinge, shining, gleaming proudly up at her.

What in the _hell?_

She shuts the gate and soldiers on into her house. Striding quickly up the porch to unlock her door. She lets herself in and scrambles to lock the door after her. Pushing it too with a slam. She peers out her curtains. Seeing that outside was still dark and quiet. It was just her _, for miles_. There were no signs of anyone else. Maybe the creeper was done with her for the night. Maybe the rose in the pocket was tonight’s little scare _over_ and done with.

Speaking of, she flicks the light on in the kitchen and steps through. Placing her paper bag down on the island, she reaches in her pocket for the red rose. Holding it out, her thumb delicately cards over the petals. It really was a beautiful thing. Deep crimson, petals unfolding and blossoming just so. The fragrance a sickly sweet green that she could sense even from far away. He brow furrows in indecision. She leaves the rose on her windowsill where it’d be warmed by the sun in the morning.

She hands her coat up, and sets about preparing dinner for herself. She’d have to take Flo up on her offer one night. She was tired of eating sad single meals alone. She much preferred the bustle and heartiness of a family dinner. Gathering everyone together at the end of the day, to join in conversation, over  the comfort of some good home cooked food. Dinnertime in her family, was really a way of bringing everyone together. She remarks silently to herself how much she misses it as she puts her food away where it belonged.

She’s just set her casserole to warm through on the hob, and decides to pour a glass of wine from the half empty bottle in her fridge. When from her coat pocket, her phone chimes again. She listens to the sound ring in her ears. Chipping into the silence of her house.

She stands her glass down and walks softly into the hall. Pulling it out to see what her persistent creeper had to say.

_“Did you like the rose? I knew you’d appreciate it.”_

Evie thinks for a second. Red; colour of passion, colour of desire, of  _lust._ She’d read a dozen books on the Victorians understanding and meaning behind certain species of flora and fauna. She was a keen gardener, she knew what the symbolism was behind red roses. The flower of _love_. The flower that was well beyond associated with lovers, romance and Valentine’s day.  

Another text comes through.

 _“A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet…”_ Was she being _wooed_ by this person? That thought is beyond distressing.

“Robert Burns said that.” She responds.

“ _Clever, clever girl.”_

“Isn’t there someone else in your life you can send red roses too?” She seeks.

The answer comes through quick, as per usual. She’d settled with her wine in her study. Curling up and putting her cold feet under a rug to warm them through. She didn’t feel ready to relax though, not yet. _She couldn’t._

 _“No one else, gorgeous. Just you. Only you.”_  They flatter.

 _“Did you know in most cultures. A red rose is associated with love. In ancient Rome, it was believed red roses were linked to Venus, The Goddess of Love. In Indian philosophy their God, Vishnu, created the supreme goddess Laxmi out of rose petals. Therefore red roses in eastern culture are not only an icon of love, but also of sacred and divine beauty.”_  They explained.

She swallows.

“How romantic.” She comments. This felt anything but. They were sending her flowers like some crazed, stalking _ex-_ _lover_. Sending her pictures of her naked body and taunting her with it. This all felt so surreal. Now they were romancing her with red roses like a valentines date would.

 _“I could be so very romantic to you, if you wanted.”_ They told.

“What do you want from me?” she begs again. “Are you taunting me for fun? Do you want money? I’ve hardly got any money. I haven’t got anything to give you.” She tells.

That makes him chuckle under his breath from his hiding spot, _oh, yes you have baby._ He smirks. His cock twitches when he imagines her spreading those legs for him to give him what he was after.

“ _I don’t want money.”_ Comes the response.

“Then what are you doing this for?” She fired back quickly.

_“A mutual friend told me to keep an eye on you.”_

“We have a mutual friend?” She seeks.

 _“This mutual friend is also very insistent that I take good care of you. Keep you safe.”_ They add.

“You’re watching over me?” She asks.

“Of sorts.” Comes the enigmatic answer.

“ _How’s that front gate?”_

She feels an odd mixture of petrified and astounded.

“How do you know about my front gate?” She asks back.

_“I know a lot of things. Especially where you’re concerned, Evie.”_

Evie shifts on the sofa and peers around outside, as far as her eyes would allow she scans the woods looking for any signs of activity or life. She searches hard for figures hidden within the dark trees. She finds none.

“Have you been to my house?” She asks.

 _“I’ve done one better than that, gorgeous_.”

She freezes. Her phone chimes yet again.

_“Do you trust me?”_

“No.” she answers rapidly.

_“Go to your back door.”_

Evie stays rooted to her sofa. Glued to the spot. Resisting the urge to bolt for her bathroom. Lock herself in, and call the cops.

 _“Have I hurt you yet baby? Come on, trust me, you might be pleasantly surprised.”_ Comes a goading text.

She slowly rises from the sofa, her stockinged feet brush against the rug, grounding her. She feels her work blouse tighten across her chest, and the zipper of her boring black work skirt is tugging tight about her middle. Pinching her nearly. Reminding her to regain her senses. But she _doesn’t_ listen.

She goes out of her study and walks past the stairs, down her hallway until she comes to the back door. She rattles the door handle. Still locked. She reaches for the key from its hiding place, and unlocks it.

They key glides through easily. No grating locks. No tugging and turning. She didn’t wrench her arm out of the socket trying to open the bloody thing like she usually did. She unlocks the door and examines the handle. It looked the same as the old one, but it wasn’t scratched or scuffed. It was a brand new lock. And the smell of shaved wood is strong in the air, she notices.

She hurriedly shuts and locks it. Before racing back to her phone.

“You’ve been in my house.” She states matter of factly. Trying to quash down the rising panic that was tying her tongue and stomach in tight, squeezing knots.

“ _Maybe._ ” They tease. _“Consider my little fixes a gesture of goodwill and trust. Do you trust me now? Trust that I won’t hurt you? If I wanted to do you harm, you and I both know I would have had several chances already. Chances that I haven’t taken.”_

They sounded like a _lawyer._ Or someone who had a _very_ persuasive silver tongue. _Honey tongued devils are greater trouble than they look,_ her gran had always warned her when she was young.

Despite her instincts of fear, she can’t deny the logicality and rational nature of their excellent point. They’d never threatened her. She hasn’t been harmed by this mysterious person. They’d not so much as even made an attempt to directly disturb her in person. They kept their distance.

_“You’ll also find that the damp on the downstairs ceiling has been taken care of. Aswell as the wobbly banister stop and the chipped skirting boards have been repainted.”_

She was so beyond speechless. She’d have to invent a new word for what she currently was…

_“There’s an even sexier surprise for you upstairs, gorgeous…”_

She casts a glance up her staircase. “Another gesture of goodwill?” She asks.

Her phone chimes again.

“ _Not exactly.”_ They croon.

She begins climbing her staircase slowly, phone in hand. Feeling her calves stretch and her skirt chafe the back of her legs with each step. Her bedroom door is pulled ajar. She doesn’t know what to expect. So she pushes it open softly and looks inside. Not knowing what she was in for.

_Her brain conjures up a ridiculous image of her mysterious Casanova reclining naked on her bed, waiting for her, with a rose caught between his teeth…_

Regretfully. _None_. No dark, dashing, tall stranger waiting to pounce. Just her dark and empty bedroom. Curtains swaying in the breeze from her open sash windows. Filling the room with hot summer air which was perfumes with lilacs from the purple flowered tree outside her window.

Her eye is drawn quickly, however, to one stark dot of colour on her nightstand. A single _red rose_ in a sleek glass vase. His preferred calling card of the evening. She crosses to it and strokes a petal idly, her brow still furrowed into a frown.

Chimes ring. She looks down in her hand. _“Wardrobe.”_

She looks to her right, and steps across, pulling open the doors, when she does a gasp falls unbridled from her lips. She jumps back like she’d been burned. More bewildered and distressed than before.

 _Lingerie_.

There, proudly displayed on a velvet wrapped hanger, sits a silky slip of a nightdress under a silken robe.

Evie had never seen anything _so_ beautifully crafted in all her life.

The colour flirted somewhere between sapphire and teal. She is almost scared to touch it, but she does. The gown is sumptuously soft. She gently grazes her hands over it. Before she unwraps the bow and better sees the satin slip underneath it.

Whispers of silver tulle, sheer cups are embroidered with curling feathered blue and grey birds, and coiling palm plants. The neckline leaves little to the imagination, but she supposes, that was _the_ point of such a garment. _If she wore that her whole chest, nipples and all would be on brazen display._ Right down to the ribs, the stitched sheer fabric reaches, the silk trim starts at the lower half, spilling down to a mid-thigh cut. The straps are thin blue silk. It looks like something a seductively decadent 1920’s heiress would wear, lounging in her boudoir, waiting on her lover as she combed her hair and awaited on her bright young thing. Evie can picture this powerful woman. She can picture her long, slender willowy body draped in that robe, with pom-pom heeled mules on her feet.

There is a red rose tied to the hanger too. Just to make her understand _who_ it’s from.

Evie steps back from the disastrously beautiful thing. Taking her hand off it. Her phone buzzes again.

 _“Third drawer dresser.”_ They tell her.

She does as she told and goes for it nonetheless. She tugs open the stubborn, heavy wooden drawer and her eyes fall on a small wrapped golden box tied with a white ribbon. She crouches and tugs the box out, untying the satiny bow she lifts the lid,

And promptly drops the box in shock. Her hand clasped over her mouth. _Was that?_

A niggling little chime from her phone interrupts her reveries.

 _“It won’t bite you, baby.”_ They mock teasingly.

Evie picks the box up and lays it on her bed, taking out the small, odd shaped device from its bed of scented tissue paper.

A vibrator.

It was a bronzed chrome. Glinting in the half-light when she turned on her bedside lamp. It was fairly flat oval shape, slight tear dropped end was curved up, split with a gap almost down to the middle. There were a small button on the bulbous flat opposite end. A switch she imagines. She shoves it back in the box and tucks in under her bed. Her cheeks glaring red. Mortified. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt.

_“Have some wine, gorgeous. Then give that toy a go. I promise you’ll get every penny’s worth of pleasure from it. Be dirty for me. Sweet dreams.”_

She feels an odd sort of relief when she see’s him sign off with that last text. Her eyes cast over the divine lingerie that had been left for her.

She does as suggested, eats her dinner, pours a glass of wine, and then another, until she’s finished the bottle. And then slips in the shower. And that’s when she starts to _feel it_ …

An odd sort of drowsiness creeps up her spine, slithers into her limbs. She braces one hand against the tiled shower wall. She started to feel exhaustion grate down into her bones. She gets out, trying to just stay awake. Her eyes felt so heavy, so drowsy.

She’s so sleepy she doesn’t even bother to pull on underwear, just her oversized, blue cotton striped nightshirt that falls to her thighs. She only just manages to brush her dry hair and put her body lotion on her arms and legs. Spritz a little perfume on her wrists.

She pads across to her bed and sits down on it, she lies back for a second. Blinks up at her ceiling, once, twice, and then she’s out of it. It had drained her energy dry to merely lift her legs onto the bed.

Unbeknownst to her unconscious state, the empty wine glass she drank from sat _guiltily_ by her bedside.

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next; Evies creeper pays her another visit... its about to get very intimately... personal.
> 
> Is it just me being a filthy porn gremlin that loves Dom violent Kylo or what?
> 
> How am I doing? What do we think so far? HMU Feed my inbox addiction if you will.
> 
> for second half: This right here is a naughty dirty filthy little link to what the creepers little 'Present' looks like.. If anyone's interested (personally I think its real fucking pretty and i'm a sucker for anything 1920's honestly: be warned children t’is a sex shop website) https://www.coco-de-mer.com/product/the-va-by-coco-de-mer-lovers-palm-slip/
> 
> Oh. And one more thing: to the shall remain nameless person who inboxed me today saying this was a rapey, abhorrent, degenerate pile of shit with Star Wars characters stuck in it - 
> 
> Firstly - Thankyou. You’ve made me chuckle and belly laugh at the comment all evening. (I especially loved the part where you called me a pig) 
> 
> Secondly - learn to read the story tags love. Plenty of fair warning in those. Hugs and kisses to you darling, you sure made me laugh xoxox


	7. Sweetness & Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, and (um not very) sweet actually. This chapter is a red flag factory, my friends. triggers for all sorts of unhealthy stuff... proceed daintily

 

 

Kylo was woken by the sound of grating metal. The furious whine of his phone ringing where it met with the metal frame of his bed, where he kept his contraband, solidly tucked away under his mattress. He hated being disjointed rudely from his sleep. He slept shallowly as it was. He’d always been cursed to be a light sleeper.

He growls soundly as he flips on his side, and feels for his phone. Still half groggy with sleep, his bare torso slightly sheened with his sweat that slipped slick down the valleys of his chest. He felt hot, and his room was unbearably muggy. Sweat clung to his brow and where his neck rested on his scratchy pillow.

He got his fingers around his phone, his hips still pressing fully to the bed where his torso twisted half to rest on his side, muscles bunching, as he brought the infernal thing to his ear.

 _“What?”_ He snaps muzzily down the phone when he answers it. He all but _barks_. His voice a husked, sleepy growl.

“You should see her right now.” Burrs a rasping voice down the other end. _So_ turned on, his voice is no more than an aching echo of its usual confident self. He could _hear_ his twin’s smile.

 _That_ got Kylo’s attention. He was definitely awake now.

His eyes snap open and he sits up, pushing himself onto one elbow. His thick legs tangling in his blankets as he shuffled up. He must be dreaming. Delirious. His ears prick up and he was listening out for Kittens voice down the phone. He can hear no indication of her.

“What are you doing?” Kylo asks.

“Just up to my usual tricks…” Ben sighs quietly with a smirk.

He pushed himself away from leaning against the frame of her bedroom door. Slowly stalking across to the bed where she lay. Out cold. She looked so _fucking_ perfect right now.

_Their perfect kitten, stretched out in moonlight, in a room brimming full of lilac. Sweet, calm and dark._

That divine, small, body of hers, thrown out across the bed as she crashed out. She wasn’t under the covers, like he thought she would’ve been. _Oh, this was so much better_. Her head was thrown to stretch her neck out on the pillows, hair mussed, but not obscuring her resting face. One arm was bent up by her head on the pillow, the other lazily folded down her side. She was flat on her back, legs apart, resting with one almost tucked under the other. Her windows were still open, letting a gentle hot breeze carve over her body.

It tickled her hair, ruffled the wrinkled linen collar of her blue nightshirt. The thing was transparent to Ben’s greedy eyes. Where she lay a shaft of speckled moons light poured over her from the window.

He could see those bare breasts of hers, the round gentle mounds that rose and fell as she slept. He licked his lips when he spied her pert nipples pressing up under the fabric, begging for his attention. _Screaming for the hot caress of his mouth_. The scratch of his rough goatee against where she was soft and sensitive. He’s salivating in want of those pretty nipples under his tongue.

Where she’d left the shirt undone he could see right down the pale valley than ran between them. He could glimpse the frail bone of her sternum, the start of her ribs. All those curves and edges of her bones under her exposed flesh. Soft shapes and slender muscle stretched under supple skin. The dip of her ribs, the outline of the small rounded swell of her belly.

The faint contour under that fabric of the mound between her thighs.

He felt his cock twitch at the fact her shirt was undone so much, he could see the curve of her shoulder where her thin item of clothing had slipped off. If that wasn’t enough to make him grow hard, then the sight of where the thing had ridden up her soft, delicate thighs _sure_ as hell was. He could see her upper legs, her inner thighs where she was silky soft and perfectly untouched. The round of each of her thighs would look _so_ good in the span of his hands grip.

He comes to a stand at the end of her bed. One hand of his curling around the antique bedstead. Those warm, bronze eyes watching her chest rise and fall. Listening to her quiet, deep breaths drawing in and out of her lungs. He watched her torso. Watched it swell, then watched it sink.

“What have you done to her?” Kylo asks him in a drawl. He was satisfied enough with knowing Ben to know he never in a million years would have hurt her.

His brother _was_ an enormous pervert, but he was no sadist.

Ben doesn’t answer. He’s too busy feasting his eyes on the perfection that was strewn out half naked before him on the bed.

Practically serving her out to him on a embroidered floral platter.

“Hear that?” Ben asks as he rounds the bed.

She twists in her sleep, a soft groan leaving her lips as her hips pressed up from the bed, and she turns her head to the side. Partially hidden in her downy pillow. The rosebud stitched bedspread and feathery duvet rustled under her as she moved. When her chest shifts, the light catches on the sheen of sweat between her tits. Catches on the beads of it that wriggled down her throat.

Kylo swallowed. _God, that groan_. That sweet yearning noise he caught coming from her, stabbed into him. Studded straight into the pit near the sharp beat of his brutal heart – rams itself right in there like an arrow. It somehow made him both shudder and tense at the same time.

He wets his lips before he asks: “I presume you gave her the _, usual_ , Ben Solo cocktail?” A hint of judgement, disapproval, lingering in his tone.

Ben sneers.

“A drop _or_ two of GHB in her white wine. Poor greedy little kitten drank the _whole_ thing down.” He explains.

Coming now to stand to the foot of the bed, to her left. Still towering down over her. He slowly eased himself down onto the bed with a satisfied groan as he sunk into the mattress, carefully reaching one hand over to toy with a lock of hair that had messily fallen over her face. His thumb carding a gentle caress over the soft of her cheek. She turned her head into the so-slight embrace of his hand, a deep breath morphed into a nearly moan from within her throat.

He heard Kylo swear down the line. Biting off a brutal curse word hearing her moan. He couldn’t deny he was fighting a raging hard on just from hearing her breathy, sleepy mewls. His hips rutted, humping into his bunk. He groaned loudly.

His worried eyes snapped across his muggy, foggy orange lit cell. Checking for signs of foot treads able to be glimpsed beneath the light from under the crack in his cell door. He’d need to bite his lip lest he wants a guard busting in on him.

Ben just watched for a moment at the delicate slope of her face fitting into his hand. As if he needed reminding of how massive he was in comparison to how petite she is. The curving arc of his thumb, as he slipped his fingers down her slender neck.

“She really _is_ your little Kitten, Ky. She’s just _pining_ to be touched…petted.” Ben purrs deeply down the phone.

His last word comes out as a husking whisper as his hands slips from her face, further _south._  His fingers skim down from her rosy cheek, to her chin, his finger blazing a trail down over her sticky neck. His chest rising and falling quickly _as_ surely as his cock was starting to fill out in his jeans.

Kylo can’t decide if he’s so livid, _or_ so turned on. Either way,  he felt like he might burst.

If he was a free man right then, he’d have dragged his twin off her, tied him at the end of the bed - close enough to touch but not quite able - and make Ben watch, as Kylo _took_ her, over and over.

Ben watched his fingers move across the skin, over her sternum. Unable to resist, he dips under her night dress and feels the shape of her breast, her nipple puckering up, into his palm. When his big fingers closed over the most smooth skin he’s sure he’s ever felt. Cupping her in his hand, he growls, leaning in to drag his plush lips across her bare shoulder.

“ _f-oh fuck_ , she smells _so_ fucking good.” Ben mumbles into her skin. Licking up her sweat, tasting her perfume, her skin, on his palate. Wetting his appetite for more. Dragging his unshaven chin into her to let her feel its scrape. Its rasp. His teeth fight to sink down on her skin. Leave her a mystery hickey to wake up too in the morning.

“Her perfume…” Kylo agrees knowingly in a moan. He wishes _he_ was the one with his mouth at her neck.

“Mm _nn_.” Ben growls back as he nuzzles his face to her. Mashing his nose and lips into the warm crook of her neck.

He breathes openly against her skin. His fingers rolling her under his grasp. His teeth coming into the fray, scraping against her neck. He had to be careful he didn’t give her a tender red rash from the scratch of his facial hair.

Ben had never smelt anything _so_ exquisite as the subtle scent of the floral heat that emanated from the thrumming pulse point in her neck. It was such a simple, scent. But she made it _so thrillingly_ erotic. He was almost giddy when another moan sailed out her mouth, her back arching as she unknowingly pressed herself up into him. Her body, her tits, crushing squarely into his chest.

“Sensitive neck…” He remarks, letting his thumb catch on her stiff nipple, feeling with his mouth the gooseflesh that he was proud to have made pimple across her skin. “I’ll have to remember that…” He whispers to himself. Laying his phone down on her bedside. Freeing up both hands.

“How sensitive is the rest of you, baby?” Ben asks her. Loud enough for Kylo to hear him. Unable to resist sucking lightly on her collarbone. His nose nudging to prod into her neck. Getting lost in the addictive pull of her perfume again.

Kylo can hear _every_ suck. Every kiss. Every move Ben made against her body. He could hear it all.

If there was ever a karmic, cosmic punishment awaiting him in this life, or his next: he’s certain it’d be something like this.

Listening to the man he - almost - hates, fucking _his toy._

Ben lets his hand travel further south. He, reluctantly, leaves her breast and slips down. Over her belly. Fingers dragging across the soft linen of her nightshirt. Her hot skin searing under his hand. Her thighs shifted as his hand came down on them. He let three fingertips carefully dig in, caressing her.

“Her skins _so_ damn soft. Fucking gorgeous. All of her is…” Ben yearns aloud. Watching carefully where her legs had lifted. Where they resettled, she’d spread them wider.

Ben swallows.

 _“Oh_ , baby…” He purrs in warning. “Tell me you haven’t…”

Kylo can’t believe how hard he is merely from overhearing this conversation. His length is rock hard now. Throbbing up against his regulation sleepwear, sending shivers to wrack through every vertebrae of his spine. The fabric snagging against his length where it was twitching, the way it was chafing against his clothing made him grit his teeth. Head thrown back on his pillow. Fist clenched. _He can’t help it_.

He’d rather he’d not have this erotic fantasy moment of _his_ kitten featuring his air-headed brother. But, this was the closest thing to action he’d had in _four_ years. This was the most he was ever gonna get.

Kylo swallows. Trying to ignore the heaviness of his cock. “ _What?..._ ” He asks hungrily. Seeking an answer.

Bens hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, and cupped _bare_ flesh. _No panties_. His hips jerked upwards in sheer want when his hand meets the tender softness of her - smoothly shaved - pussy. Better yet, her wet pussy. she was _streaming_ with it. Her slick stuck to his fingers when he just inched two of his digits against her lips.

_Sweet, sweet Evie, and her bare, shaven, wet, pussy._

He wouldn’t tear his hand away for anything in the world right now. Apocalypse? Incoming hurricane? Global genocide? No chance. He finally had his fingers a hairs breadth away from the cunt he’d been after for weeks.

 _“Shit._ She’s not wearing panties.” Ben could feel his cock weeping in his underwear. Why did he have to wear jeans tonight? They were so fucking stiff and _he_ was stiff enough as it is. It almost hurt how hard he was.

“You trying to make me cum in my underwear kitten _? Cause holy fuck_ , you’re going about it the right way…” Ben whispers as he shifts on the bed.

He tilts his head across to the bedside table. Reaching out to grab his phone, he adjusts, and rests it against her lampshade – camera facing _outwards._

Touch was nothing compared to sight. And he was a thoroughly visual creature. He gets between her splayed legs and gently pushes up her shirt. Keeping it pressed up against her lower abdomen.

It’s then that Ben Solo comes eye level with _the_ most perfect pussy he’s ever set his eyes on.

He swallows once more, grins, and uses one thumb to spread open her sweet labia. Giving him a view of all of her. All of her pussy that was tight, wet and _so_ fucking pink, he thought he might lose his mind.

“She’s damn pretty down here too, Kylo…” Ben mumbles. Those shadowed bronze eyes peeking up under his hair, drinking her in, as he rubbed his big thumb against her clit. She bucks and whines for him. Her head thrashes on her pillow and her hips press up against his hand again. He rubs harder. Her thighs shiver and tremble for him. Her legs shifting and moving on the bed with the pleasure he was making course through her.

He removes his thumb and sucks it. Groaning in bliss at his first sample of her taste. “I can’t resist a pussy, baby. Especially not one _as pretty_ as this…” He grumbles. And replaces the touch of his hand, with his tongue instead.

Down the line, Kylo is fully stroking himself now, hand having torn into his briefs and his pants. Chest full of rage and hunger. “I fucking hate you Ben. _Ah-fuck_. I hate you so damn much right now you f- _ugh_.” He grumbles as he twists his hand on his hard length. “How is she?” He demands stiffly. Ben can hear his voice drifting over the speaker

He sinks his mouth down slowly. And from the first touch of her sitting wet and soft on his tongue. His eyes roll back in his head and he fully groans into her. His deep voice pulses, vibrating into her and she whines in her drugged state.

“Heaven.” Is his answer.

Kylo shuts his eyes. Feeling his throbbing cock pulse into his hand when he heard Ben’s answer.

He licks up into her – snuffling his face right in. delirious with hunger from the first taste. He is starving and he’s acting like it. He moans louder when he swallows down a taste of her, and his spit. Slick. Hot. Filthy. His hips hump against the side of the bed, he’s so turned on.

His fingers curl around her hip, clamp into her thigh. Hold her open, spread her wide. He feels her slick pour down his chin. Drenching into his beard, he feels it run down his tache, into his waiting mouth. Can sense it dripping out of her, directly onto his tongue as he laps, curls, twists. Suckles at her like the delicacy she is.

He wants the power to somehow be able to eat her, and have his mouth at her neck at the same time. Nip at the vein there with his teeth. Feel her jugular pulse under his tongue as she cries his name in a string of babble, with how good he’s making her cum.

Her groans come so frequently now. Ben laps one long lick at her with the whole flat of his tongue to experiment. She groans and thrashes on the bed. Moving her body so wildly, one breast peeks out of her shirt. Barely covered. Rosy red nipple stiff and stark against the blue. That sweat sheened body writhing on the end of his tongue.

He smiles as he looks over to the phone when he licks her up flat, and slow. He might as well make this entertaining for Kylo to watch later on.

He sinks a finger into her, deep. She thrashes, opening her legs wider for him. He encourages her.

“That’s it _baby_ , you’re so fucking needy, aren’t you? Been waiting for me…. You don’t know how badly you need me. How much you need this. You need me to show this pretty pussy how to cum. That shitty ex of yours will never pleasure you like I can… bet that whiskey-dick never even made _you cum_ during sex. Huh? Sinful.” Ben ramble’s on at her.

Inbetween his words, he is sucking down the taste of her cunt like it was ambrosia nectar of the gods, and withdrawing and pushing his finger to slide along her walls. Teasing, tantalising. Flicking over spots he wanted to feel when she gushes up his arm. He made a note to make her do that too. Then he’d be able to lap her clean afterward.

She clenched around his finger _so_ tight. Drenched velvet.

“Bet he never made her cum on his _dick_ either…” Kylo growls over the phone.

 _He’d damn well make her cum on this one if he could._ Kylo groans to himself. Looking down at the generous, meaty heft of his erection, red, veiny and impatient in his palm. Both hands in play now. Phone discarded on his pillow so he could still hear. His other soundly teasing around one nipple ring.

“You’re so fucking beautiful baby. You know that? What you don’t know is how badly _we both_ want you. We want you _so, so_ fucking goddamn much.” Ben babbles.

Now he’s shaking his head from side to side, running his tongue in sharp figures of eight, all around her clit. There was a puddle under her pussy, slipping and dripping over his fingers. He ate up every drop he could. Her ripe little clit pulsing hard under his tongue. He smiles, opening his mouth, he smirks, leaving his tongue to dig deep into her pussy for more.

“You need to cum, don’t you Kitten? I can feel it…” Ben tells her, moving his finger faster, circling a motion and curling upward to push against her sweet malleable spot.

Kylo gruffs down the phone. “ _Fuck._ Make her cum. I wanna hear her…” He groans breathlessly. His tone terse and short. His free hand tugging firmly on his left nipple ring as his other beat his cock senseless. Images of Evie’s pussy tantalising him behind his closed eyelids. He imagined he was face first in her. Tasting her, feeling her slick, her cum, coat the lower half of his face.

“I’m insulted you even have to _tell me_ that…” Ben purrs to his twin. Before suckling her clit into his mouth and dragging his fingers to press upwards against where he knew they would feel good. She does sound _so pretty_ as she cums.

She writhes, bucks, and whines, and mewls. Her head was thrown back so Ben couldn’t see her expression. But he could feel her quivering soft thighs clamp his face. They too wet with his spit trailing from her leaking pussy. He smiles and continues to slurp and suck her clit til he can’t hear her whines anymore. Sufficiently suckling her clean. Satisfied with having made her orgasm gush down his throat. Her cum poured into his mouth and he greedily had it all.

Kylo is cursing Ben’s name as he lays there. Spent from his own enormous orgasm, with the evidence of it, once again, pooling on his toned, tattooed stomach. Ben didn’t quite have the luxury of an orgasm right here before him.

“She’s too out of it for me to do much more with…” He sighs regretfully to the phone. Licking his lips. His tache. Getting _every_ drop of taste that remained. Some of it had even run down his neck.

“How chivalrous of you…” Kylo burrs dangerously.

Ben shifts off the bed, and grabs his phone. Trying to put aside the infernal tightness of his cock, and the way his balls felt like two tonne weights. Ben palms his dick through his jeans for a moment. Head thrown back to the ceiling as he whines with the brief snippet of instantaneous relief.

“I need Hux.” Ben decides. Heading out of the door with some _very_ blue balls.

“Thanks for calling.” Kylo grunts dryly.

Ben hangs up. His response to Kylo comes in the form of a shocking picture; Kylo nearly crushes his phone in hand when he sees the grainy, dark video clip of his twin smirking openly as he ate _his kitten’s_ pussy. Winking at the camera with his tongue buried in her to the hilt.

 _“Fucker_.” Kylo growls. Throwing his phone away.

 

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know. I know. I need Jesus. Ain’t enough holy water in the world to keep my mind clean. 
> 
> I think about kylo tugging his nipple rings when he cums more often than I should...


	8. Lessons & Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson for this chapter; Don’t mess with what’s Kylo’s. Does kitten finally learn the nature of his fascination with her? Bless her. I think she does. 
> 
> I wrote this on my phone so the formats a little meh. I’ll edit it properly at some later point. In the meantime: enjoy Kylo’s innocence kink for Kitten. Oh he’s such a filthy boy. Hmu with your thirsts good people... I live for my inbox.
> 
> And oh my god. You guys. Your comments are all so nice!!! My god I love you all so much and Thankyou for joining me on this little adventure of filth. (Honestly I hope you know every comment is so so cherished!!!)
> 
> Any ideas lurking in those gorgeous minds about scenarios for the story? Come chat <3

 

 

  

He was walked along the abysmal hallway. As usual. With two guards posted at his sides. Keeping vigilant watch on him. Their steps rung heavy down the hall. Shattering and ricocheting up into the echoing dank corridor around them.

 

The guards spoke; but not to him. Today’s thrilling monotony was last night’s football game. Kylo wanted to roll his eyes in annoyance. He never understood the appeal of sports. Didn’t get the attraction to it. He’d always had other interests at heart... Perhaps he just despised wasting his time. Who knows. Who cares.

 

The knuckle-headed guards continue to plod him along all the same. Yammering on and on about the players in the offense. What they don’t realise is that they should’ve been paying closer attention to the _very_ bored sociopath walking between them.

 

 _First_ big mistake.

 

Kylo purposefully tangled his foot in with the guard on his left as they walked along. Jones his name was. A big, portly, brute. Not the brightest of the bunch. Matter of fact he was dumber than a box of rocks. Henderson was on his right. He was equally as stupid too.

 

Kylo could’ve outwitted the morons in his sleep with his hands tied behind his back.

 

He causes them both to stumble off into the wall. The side of Kylo’s hip slams into the wall to keep him upright. His body half colliding with the man’s. Who didn’t pay attention to _where_ Kylo’s hands went in the impact.

 

_They went to his key belt._

 

Kylo straightens and quickly pockets what he’d stolen. Stumbling quickly forwards. Grunting when the other guard unsheathes his nightstick and soundly whacks Kylo upward’s across his back. He hunched his shoulders over lightly and turns to give the offender that black ice glare of his.

 

Feeling the heat of the assault already bruise it’s pain up his back. Flowering outwards it’s black and blue petals onto his skin. He was used to being battered. Used to wearing evidence of it on his skin. Nestled next to his tattoos like a story.

 

“None of your tricks Ren. I ain’t _stupid_.” They spit at him hatefully.

 

Kylo turns and carries on walking. Shuffling away. Respectfully disagreeing in odes to what now sat concealed in his pocket.

 

He’d taken Jones’ keycard. And he had taken Henderson’s weeks ago. The one for the interview room was a key card. Most guards were issued with one. Which was overkill. Only one was needed. The door locked automatically after it was shut.

 

He timed it perfectly. The other high ranking guards he knew had keys were all on rota working the other side of the prison. It would take a while for them to get here.

 

He didn’t need long. A few minutes at best.

 

Kylo had seen fit to wedge the interview room door open last time he was in there. A small piece of stone he pocketed from the yard stopping the latch from closing. Keeping the door open until he closed it.

 

And _he_ was in possession of the only two keys for miles. He keeps his smirk to himself at his plot.

 

They all come up to the interview room.

 

“ _Huh_. Doors stuck. Shitty thing probably needs replacin’.” Henderson laughs dryly as he swings it open. He’d been two seconds away from reaching for his belt for the card that he _wouldn’t_ find hooked there.

 

“Don’t need those key cards today.” Jones smiles at his companion. “Just station outside the door on the chairs. Take a breather for a few. He won’t be trouble He’s been level these past few weeks. Probably that pretty writer _keepin_ him in line.” Jones drawls.

 

“Amen to that. I need to take five anyway... Rest my damn feet. Been pulling double’s _all_ week.” One laughs back at the other.

 

“Keep it _clean_ , inmate.” Henderson gruffs to Ren. Manoeuvring him through the door.

 

“Yeah. No humping the pretty lady. You hear?” One of them mocks him. They share laughter once again.

 

He ignores their stupidity. Talking to him like he was a damned _dog_.

 

Instead he looks into the room ahead, and a smirk curls it’s way onto his lips at the sight already sat awaiting him at their usual table.

 

_Sweet Kitten._

 

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was too busy scribbling notes in her little pad.

 

She wore her hair up today. No glasses. And that same brand of uninteresting workwear doing very little to accentuate the gorgeousness of her body. He’d seen - _intimately_ \- the fullness of her breasts. The soft, round curve of her full backside and thighs. Now he’d seen the limber stretch of her naked, he finds boring clothes an _offensive_ addition to her body.

 

He’s getting so fed up of looking at her. He needs a touch. A taste. _He needs it soon._

 

The unwitting guard to his right opens the door for him, and Jones walks him in. Kylo lingers in the doorway, kicking away the stone.

 

The door won’t stay open now.

 

Jones takes him across to the table. And he doesn’t bother shackling him in. 

 

_Next_ big mistake.

 

Evie looks nervously over at the man, seeking an explanation. Kylo watched her cute little expression fret. His hands were shackled. But they weren’t cuffing him in to the table like they usually did.

 

She shrinks a little in her seat. “No shackling into the table today?” She asks to no one in particular. Eyes flickered between Kylo and the guard.

 

“He’s earned a privilege for recent good behaviour.” The guard mumbles gruffly. Raising his brows and peering down at Ren.

 

“ _Try_ and keep it up.” He’s warned. Before the heavy man plods out the room. Recommencing his conversation with his friend outside the cell door.

 

The lock clicks in the door. Kylo sneers a little at it. They were _too thick_ to realise it just yet. They settle down in the chairs and talk some more. About football. About their shitty insignificant lives. It doesn’t matter to him.

 

The only person that matters now is across the table from him.

 

“I thought I scared you off when last we talked. Kitten.” He drawls lowly. Smiling darkly at her.

 

Evie remembers. His voice purring about _fucking her_ haunted her dreams. Of course she remembered.

 

“I’m _sorry_. That was very unprofessional of me.” She stammers in regret. Fleeing like that was the height of silliness and nothing short of rude.

 

“I don’t _want_ your apology.” He smirks. _Because_ _of course he doesn’t._

 

She looks up and meets his eyes. Shaded blue sky speaking volumes of her shame of fleeing in such a manner.

 

“Well. Perhaps we can put it behind us?” Evie asks.

 

Us. _Us_.

 

He likes the sound of that word coming from her lips.

 

But,  _god_ , it conjures up images that it shouldn’t. Images of them together. Curled into each other. Joined as one. _Fucking_ and _rutting_ like desperate beasts. Cursing and wailing in pleasure.

 

Him on top so he didn’t crush her. Railing his heavy, huge dick into her with _all_ his furious might whilst she grappled at the bedsheets and took it in her tight dripping cunt. Sweat dripping from his body onto her. He’d rub it into her tits with his big hands. Mark her with his scent. His cum. Spit in her pussy and terrorise her clit with his fingers. Fuck her open. Split her in two and not stop til she’s screeching his name like an animal in heat. Taking him as many times as he wanted to fuck her _. She’d take it. Take him. Take him like the good girl she was_.

 

“Of course.” Kylo agrees kindly. “What interfering questions await me today Winslow?” He adds. 

 

She swallows. “You’ll be pleased to hear, _none_ from my notebook. I’m going off the cuff again.” She tells with a small smile.

 

Kylo assesses her with a hint of a pleased smirk. His eyes glimmered, sparkling darkly.

 

“My, my. _My_ kitten’s learning _quick_.” He purrs. He liked that she wanted to please him. Truth be told, it turned him on.

 

“I hear you’re an architect...” She begins. She didn’t bring up Ben. She wasn’t sure if they were in good terms. She didn’t want to provoke a bad reaction.

 

“I  _was_. Now I’m a convict.” He smarts at her.

 

“I think being an architect sounds amazing.” She continues.

 

“I was a fucking good one too. I _loved_ my job.” He rewards her with emphasis.

 

If he fed her _little_ useful, true, things sometimes: she’d keep coming back. If he gave away every spec of information about himself away upfront. She’d have stopped coming after one visit. And he couldn’t have that...

 

She was his gorgeous distraction from this hellhole.

 

“I imagine a lot of travel is involved with being a residential architect. So much inspiration everywhere...” She goads.

 

“I used to travel frequently. London. Budapest. Paris. Rome. Stockholm. New York. Hong Kong. Berlin. You name it. Not _many_ places I haven’t been.” He offers curtly.

 

_And now he was incarcerated in here, in this soulless, doomed place._

 

 “I know it can’t be easy to talk about...” she adds in an attempt at understanding.

 

“I always _wish_ I’d traveled more. Gone to Italy. Seen Rome or Venice. Gone to a Tuscan Vineyard. Seen the Eiffel tower with my own two eyes... just once...” She dreams. Trailing off. Her words ending with a lull, just like the pursuit of her wish.

 

“We both know what’s stopping me.” He rattles his shackles to prove a point. “What’s _stopping you?”_ He demands.

 

She blinks in alarm. He had just spat harsh words at her.

 

“Salary of a lowly columnist and novelist is _um.well...._ it’s bleak at best. Not exactly a whole host of opportunity’s for someone who used to write for a two-bit pensioners clothing catalogue, to seek expensive adventures abroad in Tuscany.” She says.

 

“Some things are always _out_ of our reach. So I shall have to content myself with dreams I can actively achieve...a new tree planted in my garden. A,  _ugh, new_ set of first edition folios from my local book shop.” She smiles gently. Falsely boasting her optimism.

 

Not mentioning that she had an entire wall bookshelf full of Italian travel books. Postcards of Milan scenery pinned to her fridge, and a yearning to go see the gorgeous country for herself. She let those facts die a quiet, unaired death. Once more, buries her yearning. Locks it up down deep.

 

Kylo tilts his head at her. “Who knows... you may get there _one_ day.” He pledges.

 

They are interrupted as another guard comes along and swipes the door access with his card. Readying another prisoner to come in.

 

_Right on time_. Kylo thinks. Glancing up at the clock on the wall.

 

Murray the guard escorts a broad chested, muscled guy inside. His head was shaven and he had a bald tattooed head marked with tribal style ink. His eyes were dark and his face was young and puppyish. Linetti. A jumped up little jerk from the other wing. A troublemaker. Car thief. Drug dealer. And some counts of ABH. Nothing terribly harmful. No one of serious consequence. Not to _Kylo_ anyway...

 

That’s _exactly_ what Kylo thought of him. Especially as he was out in the yard the other day for his usual allotted hour. He was reclining against the chain link fence. Enjoying the heat on his sun starved skin, when he overheard Linetti shooting hoops with his buddies. Cackling.

 

_Laughing and leering about his Evie._

 

In-between the clinking pangs of the basketball being dribbled against the court. He could hear the shitty idiot talking to his friends.

 

“ _That cute broad that came in the other day? They walked her through D-wing. Holy fuck. Saw right up her fucking skirt. She got a real cute cunt man. I swear. Then she looks at me, right at me, licks her fucking lips like she wants to suck my dick. I bet she’d look fucking good on her knees. Only she goes off to interview some shithead from lifers or somethin... she looked at me with those come fuck me eyes man. I’m tellin ya. Fucking bitch was horny for me. Panting like a dog for my dick in her throat....”_

 

The moron had failed to notice Kylo was at the fence. Hearing _every_ word. Every word that dripped within innuendo from from his disgusting mouth he would pay sorely for. _He’d bet his life on it._

 

Evie glances up at the pair entering the room, ending their solitude. Kylo watches as Linetti’s eyes turn foul and sleazy as he eyes up Evie where she sat. Smile leering at her. Tilting his head to size up her ass and legs under the table.

 

Her cheeks heat and she glances sharply away when he levels a suggestive playful kiss across at her. His pointed tongue _licking_ his lips as he did. Waggling his tongue ring at her.

 

The guard sits him down. Evie notices that Kylo’s eyes don’t leave the inmate.

 

“Your visitor will be along in minute. Keep quiet til then Linetti.” Then the guard leaves the room. Letting the door lock and saying goodbye in passing to his colleagues.

 

Linetti’s visitor wouldn’t be along in a minute. Or in two minutes. Or _at all._ Kylo had manipulated Ben into booking a visit under a false name for him. He needed him in this room. He needed him _alone_. In a room only _he_ had keys too.

Needed to remind people _what_ happens when they lust after his things. Evie tried to resume talking. But the idiot lounges in his chair and calls across to her;

 

“Why don’t you come over here sweetie? I got some stuff you could _take down...”_ He flirts across at her. Grabbing his crotch in a crude gesture. Evie looks flushed. Embarrassed.

 

Not on his watch. Not _his_ kitten.

 

“Don’t look at him. Keep your eyes on _me_. Kitten. Understand?” Kylo tells her lowly. He’d leaned in to talk softly.

 

She does as told. His look bolstered her. It gave her - _possibly false_ \- belief that he would keep her safe in whatever tension now flared up in the air around them. Kylo switched his attention to the other inmate.

 

And he doesn’t stop staring daggers at the guy. If Linetti was smart. That was the point when he’d shut his mouth. And not continue. Only, he _wasn’t_ smart...

 

“Shut your _stupid_ fucking mouth, Linetti.” Kylo tells him. Head slowly turning to him. Moving slowly. Like a reptile. His only semblance of a warning in the way he tilts his head.

 

Linetti scoffs.

 

“Or what Ren? You’re a jacked up _nobody_. _Old_ man. Everyone on here says you’re fucking crazy. But you couldn’t take me. Now stop monopolising the sweet pussy and let me get a good look at those _pretty_ tits...” He smirks. Launching from his table and coming across, a predator, headed for Evie.

 

She gapes, standing up from her seat and bolting back a few steps. Now near the wall by the door. He was backing her into a corner. 

 

_Oh, hell no._

 

Kylo shoots from his seat like an idiot seeking missile. Coming to his full disarming height opposite the moron. _Directly_ blocking his path. Inserting himself between his kitten and this jumped up shit.

 

Guarding. Warning him off. Protecting what is his.

 

By now. The guards opposite were apoplectic. At the cell door. Screeching for Ren to back off.

 

“You lay even _one_ finger on her. Your head gets ripped from your shoulders...” Kylo tells. “That how you wanna _die_ , dipshit?” He seeks. “I’d be only too happy to oblige.”

 

“The guards are coming in. What you gonna do to me, _fuckhead?”_ He braves.

 

Kylo reaches into his pocket and plainly brings out both guards key cards. They shout loudly from the door. Kylo merely smirks at them. _Dumb fucks._

 

The playful light of confident bravery in Linetti’s eyes, fades.

 

“What makes you think they’re coming in?” Kylo asks in a deathly calm voice.

 

He had the balls to know to look terrified now.

 

He weakly tried to fend Kylo off with a lousy right hook. It didn’t work. Kylo caught his thrown punch and used his own weight and momentum to spin him around. Linetti can barely shout out before Kylo kicks his feet out under him. And links his own shackles across his neck. Pulling them tight. Tugging them across the idiots throat.

 

And he looked completely unfazed by the nature of his violence.

 

He listens to the man gasp and grapple for breath. Air and drool bubbling out his lips. His eyes bugging. Face starting to turn red. Starving for air that Kylo wouldn’t allow him to reach.

 

“You wanna try and gawp at her now, _huh_ _,_ you sick fuck?” He asks. Linetti weakly tried to shake his head.

 

“I don’t think she can _hear_ you.” Kylo taunts. Yanking tighter, making it impossible. His words escaped in a foaming gurgle as his eyes started to close.

 

She wants to say something to stop him. But what words can she say to stop Kylo Ren?

 

She can only watch in horror. Crowded, cowering low into the corner as the inmate in front of Kylo stops clawing at the strong trunks of his orange clad thighs. And gets thrown to the floor. Kicked away to roll limp on his side. _Unconscious_. 

 

Kylo pants with anger as he looked down on the useless pile of man slumped on the floor at his feet. Hammers his boot right into his spine.

 

That’d teach him to covet his things. His toys. Teach him not to put his _grubby_ eyes on her. Checking her out sleazily like she was his _fucking_ piece of meat.

 

She was _his_ toy. His possession. She belonged to him. She was made for him and him only. _His_.

 

He looks up at her. She wants to _sob_.

 

His hair was wild and free, black locks strung slightly in his face. His ink hued eyes flickering black, like discs of a distant glimpse of stars in a night sky. When he slowly raised his eyes to her, her lips part and she tries to push away the fear and panic that was clouding up her lungs. Sitting heavy on her chest as if trying to squeeze every last gasp of air out her body. Just like he’d done to Linetti. 

 

She’s shivering like a cowed dog. And that curling smirk that creeps into his face is an indication of his knowledge of that fact.

 

“Please... _please_... Kylo.” She whispers in a whimper though what for, she has _no_ clue.

 

He steps over the choked prisoner, now laying crimson purple in the face, with a crossed chain of the shackles indents etched, carved to bruise, into his neck. A permanent purple chain now ringing his throat. Evie can see, thankfully, his chest flutters lightly. Showing he was - _barely_ \- still living.

 

She can’t concentrate on him now. She can only raise her head and comprehend the massive man whose hellbent on coming toward her.

 

_Unshackled. Loose. Free_.

 

Free to do what he liked to her, Undoubtedly by his own design. Taking away the guards keys so they couldn’t come in took planning. Getting Linetti in here alone to choke him out took planning. She’d trusted too much in his calm façade. She dared to forget what cold, soulless monster lurked behind his clever, deceptively humanoid, front.

 

She’d lost her safety net. Having him chained to that table each time they spoke was what kept her feeling secure. Safe. As it was meant too. 

 

But now he’s worked his way out of his chains, and is no longer restrained under _any_ sense. His temper was free. His arms were free. And she was locked into the interview room with the man who she can’t decide if he is a blessing or a curse.

 

His presence did what it did best. Suffocated everything else in the room to her senses. He engulfed everything about her attention and kept it trained on him. It’s intoxicating. It’s dangerous.

 

It’s so utterly _wrong_ that she’s started to crave it so much. 

 

She’s put it out her mind each time she talks to him. Thinks about him. But here it is, those thoughts, those wants, that she thought buried are surfacing and firing up, yearning to buzz through her blood. Forcing her to look at the feeling that squirmed in her stomach and rotted her useless brain; she could diagnose it more cleanly, clearly, now that her unbidden desire is striding towards her unhinged.

 

She knows now that it’s her attraction and her _lust_. Mingled with fear. However wrong it all may be, She can’t deny it:

 

She’s lusting for a Killer. 

 

It’s slamming into her like a two tonne force, just as the six foot four, broad, strapping man before her was about too.

 

He’s spent a month tethered down opposite a metal table from her; he steps damn close when he gets near at last. She can hear him breathing heavily. She can smell his scent on the cresting air that he moves, bringing it with him. The heavy tread of his steps thunder in her ears. Moving ever closer and closer...

 

His scent is simple but effective. Sterile washing powder. An echo of faded sweat. Musk of warm skin. Pure 100% Male.

 

It was silly - but the gradual nearness of him brought an old forgotten verse of Sylvia Plath harping back in her scared mind. _“The panthers tread is on the stairs. Coming up and up the stairs...”_

 

The poem that presents so finely an image of the persona within as being the pray of a powerful, irresistible, ultimately destructive, panther.

 

_That sounded eerily familiar to her at this point..._

 

To Evie, the poem has always spoken ravenously about gut-pull. About indomitable attraction of which one party knew so greatly the danger of it. Much like that doomed persona in that dark poem, Like them, she ran from it. Bolting doors in its wake, locking it out - yet all attempts were plainly _futile_.

 

She’d tried to escape this attraction. But it had sought her out and found her all the same.

 

_Appalled by secret want - I rush._ Only she can’t rush.

 

He stops _just_ shy of her toes pressing into his. Her head barely grazes his collarbone. She fixes her gaze there. On the gap she can see in his uniform. Letting her see up close, the sharp edges of ink cutting away his bare skin at the divot of his suprasternal notch. Crawling ink reaches up his neck, dark glyphs and skulls. Death and despair. She’s fixating on the peeping collar of his white t-shirt. From here, she could see that there was not even a _drop_ of sweat lingering on him. Even though he just choked a man out. She’d be surprised if his heart rate got over 90 as he raged.

 

She gulps, pulse pounding in her throat when one bloodied, bruising and mangled set of fingers and knuckles come to sweep a curl of hair back from her clammy forehead. His hands were huge. She shuddered thinking all the ways those big palms and fingers could hurt her. _And not hurt her._

 

Sensation of his skin touching on hers flutters through her. By now her body was prickling so much with both hot and cold, she can’t tell what she is anymore. Her cheeks might be blooming red with heat but she can’t fathom it, for she’s shivering with cold.

 

Her chest trembles with torrid air that barely circulates and fails to expand her weak little lungs.

 

She screws her eyes shut and prays her lower lip doesn’t wobble. She doesn’t want her last image of this world to be of this awful, depressing place. Her brows furrow earnestly on her face. And she gulps again. Drawing in what’s she sure to be her last breath.

 

His fingers skim the side of cheek, and then her jaw. Ending their journey by tucking under her chin... She goes rigid. Her breathing so shallow and fast it aches her straining heart.

 

“ _Look_ at me.” He commands softly. Two thick fingers that slipped under her chin tilting her head up. His tone left little room for disobedience.

 

His voice rails through her like an electric shock. Spreading it’s low hum about her body at its baritone rumble. It seeps through her limbs like scalding water being flushed into her bloodstream. Radiating outwards from the very centre of her.

 

She peels her eyes open. And does as he says. She’d be a fool not too. She nearly _whimpers_ when she does.

 

Her heart beat _hurts_ when she takes in that intensely gorgeous face looking at her with such unrestrained desire. Yet his eyes seem drawn back, assessing, calculating. _No change there._ Dissecting her and pinning her down like they always did. Piercing deep into her own like two hot black knives. His beauty knocked her square in the gut.

 

Those plush lips were so close to her. That pale face with its broad, roman features is sloped down, close - _so_ very close - it’s intimidating. He stares a little longer. Sizing up his kill. She can feel his breath. And the sheer raw hot body heat that comes off him in waves.

 

Scorching her. Charring her. Mind and soul. She’s a ravened woman for him.

 

“Why aren’t you screaming at the top of your lungs for the guards right now, Kitten? I could snap your neck so _easily_ if I wanted too...” He tells her firmly.

 

Hammering his point home when his other fingers slip and slide against her neck. His skin tough, dry and _so hot._ He was an inhuman furnace.

 

His voice is deep, low and level. Like a dark melody being strummed on a double bass. She’d describe his voice as melodic and enchanting if her knees weren’t quite so weak with fear. Ready to buckle under her weight. His hand felt like the only thing anchoring her up. Keeping her standing.

 

It took all of Evie’s willpower. And unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth to answer. In sheer terror, her tongue felt too big to fit her mouth anymore. Not to mention her voice seemed to have absconded out of sight and reach of her mind.

 

“Do you want to snap my neck kylo?” She asks. Pretty certain her heart was trying to pound out of the clutch of her ribcage as if it were being held in captivity against its will. Pressing into her neck. Pressing heat and blood into her face. 

 

He tilts his head and gazed down at her throat. Where her chest swelled and sunk, he watched the veins in her neck pulsing and tugging.

 

“There’s so many things I’d do to your body given half the chance, Evie...” He tells her. She whimpers when his hand shifts. Her gaze trying to stay stuck in his. Her lips pursed. Her fear so palpable in the air it was another intruder on their conversation. 

 

“But harming it.... isn’t among them...” He adds. Purring. Leaning in to be even closer. 

 

His eyes shutter down to her lips as his joined hands leave her neck, falling away outside the close embrace of their bodies. Her breathing quickens, blood gonging in her ears. He reaches for his pockets and she finally takes her eyes away from his gaze and squirms shut in terror again. She had no desire to look down at whatever weapon he was about to pull out of his pocket... No desire whatsoever to glimpse at her own murder weapon... 

 

“Do you trust me?” Kylo’s asking her offhand. She can hear the shackles clink together.

 

“I trust that you don’t want to harm me.” She answers. He is stone cold silent again. But he was unsatisfied with her evasive answer. 

 

She opens her eyes when she feels cool metal being pressed into her palm. Eyes springing open when she feels the familiar shape and weight of one of her possessions in her grasp.

 

Kylo finishes slithering the long chain into her hand and lets it coil to rest there. Taking his hands away when he was done. But he kept the closeness. He liked it. He was going to be battered black and blue and thrown in solitary for weeks on end after this. He’d drink in her contact like a starved man while he had the chance. 

 

Breathe in her perfume. That scent he craves; Geranium. Clean simple soap. Bay leaves and greenery. Memorise once again the slopes and shapes of her face. The shade of her hair. The hollows around her gorgeous little body that made up her unique shape. Committing every negative and positive formation of her to memory.

 

“My locket?” She gasps weakly in amazement. Looking down. He feasts on her as she does. 

 

“How did-“ She asks him. Trailing off. He’d kept it to give back to her. Cherishing it almost. Knowing it was one of her beloved belongings.

 

“Shoddy clasp kitten. The things falling to pieces. You may wanna see to that.” He suggests stiffly. 

 

His eyes dart behind her to see the clamour once again out in the hallway beyond the cell door. The shouts and the din they’d been deaf too in this precious moment of privacy that had been strictly theirs. She twists her head and sees them too now. She can see Finch hissing orders at people. Thick set guards fumbling for the right keys to open the door with to _“free”_ her.

 

She doesn’t think she can ever be truly _“free”_ from a man like Kylo. 

 

“I think our times coming to a close.” He rasps at her. 

 

Disappointment and fury starting to burrow into his stomach. He’d tasted utopia being this close to her. And now, like always, it was being snatched away. Yet again.

 

“I think Finch will be very angry with you.” She predicts obviously. Looking at the orange slump of the fallen inmate over his shoulder. Hearing the shrink bellowing warnings and threats at him through the bars. Warning him what will happen if he hurts, or so much as _touches_ , Ms. Winslow.

 

Kylo looks over her shoulder at the irate man and smirks. One big paw of his cupping her hip through her clothes. Reeling her body to his so very slowly. Cupping them together with a tenderness that makes her lose her breath. She can feel his pelvis brush up on her. Can feel the meat of his thighs pressing in. Can feel his cock at half mast under his jumpsuit. Her hot little body right up against him. How could he _not_ be hard?

 

_Holy lord._ She trembles because of it. Just the force of his body did so many things... 

 

“You know. I never was any good at doing what I’m told....” Kylo growls. Those black eyes bursting into dark flame. 

 

“And why would I bother wasting worry on what Finch is gonna have done to me? It got me near to you.” He pants.

 

“I’d rip ten men apart into bloodied pieces if it meant I got to be _this_ close to you.” He tells her.

 

“Why would you do that just to be near _me_?” She asks.

 

He rolls his hips into her as if to make a statement. That big body clipping into hers so she could get a feel of how tough every single slab of muscle was. He was all, sheer, man. An aroused man at that. Judging by what _beast_ she could feel nudged between his thighs.

 

Kylo leans in. His breath rolls over her ear and sets her skin quivering with need. Her knees knock. Spine crawling with shoots of bursting hot desire. She wants to groan. She wants to be _kissed_ by this man.

 

He wants to throw her on one of the tables , bunch that drab skirt up and slam his cock into her hot, tight, little cunt.

 

He’d say this for something; beating his cock with his hand used to be enough for him. An easy way to get off for a bit of light relief when needed. Settle the antsy nerves in his blood. Make him feel less on edge. But since Evie? Since her nothing is satisfying enough. He’s bored of his hand. So weary of tugging his nipple ring for the pain, whilst his hand slicks up and down his erection for the pleasure. He’s sick of coming whilst he imagines her behind closed eyes. Fed up of watching his cum drool out only to be wasted on his skin.

 

He needs _her_. She needs _him_. 

 

Fuck his brother. Fuck him for already having been able to indulge in eating her pussy. Fuck him for watching her cum and lapping her clean. Tasting every last drop of her. She belonged to him. Her sweet pussy belonged to him and _only_ him. If he were free he’d be pounding her cunt every morning, noon and night. He’d get his face buried between those thighs for hours on end and wouldn’t let up til she passes out.

 

“Haven’t you figured it out yet in that, big, intelligent brain of yours kitten? You’re _mine_.” He intones in a fatal sounding husk. His tone was all dominance and _bite_. And _sex._

 

His mouth moves against her neck and she does gasp and pant, combusting, when he presses a single closed mouth _kiss_ to the side of her jaw. Claiming her with his touch. Branding her.

 

_Never before had so few words and actions done so much to her..._

 

He lets another breath roll over her neck. Tantalising her. Blazing and fogging hot against her skin like a dirty little secret. She wants to close her eyes at the bliss of it. She wants to moisten her dry mouth. But she has an unfortunate feeling that every drop of wetness in her body has another location in mind. She _hates_ her traitorous lust for making her feel that way about him.

 

_Hates it. Hates it. Hates it._ Loves it.

 

The guards, and a very irate Finch, finally burst their way into the room. Kylo is ripped away from her and beaten down onto his knees. Shoved down onto his kneecaps with a force that looked like it could shatter bone. He’s rammed in the ribs, the legs with nightsticks. And he doesn’t even _flinch_.

 

She feels an iron grip tug painful on her wrist. She feels it. Yet she _doesn’t_. She’s numb. She lets her unfeeling body get tugged roughly from the room. 

 

She can’t take her eyes off him. Nor him, her.

 

Even on his knees in cuffs he still looks powerful. How he did it, she knows now. She’d finally learnt. He did it with the sheer mass of his frame. The heft is his shoulders. Powerful intelligence and superiority that seeps from him. The bulk of his arms and legs so strong no one could quash him down into insignificance.

 

Those dark eyes never leave her. Especially the way Finch has his flabby, fat - _disgusting_ \- fingers curled about her tiny wrist. Her bones as delicate as a baby bird’s. His grasp would bruise her.

 

Kylo glares a warning to his shrink to back off her. He almost hopes the fat fuck doesn’t listen. That would finally give Kylo an excuse to slit his throat like he’s dreamt of doing for _so long._

 

“You get your _fucking_ hands off her.” He hisses through the bars.

 

The shrink glares back at his rioting inmate. He still hasn’t let go of her wrist. Her fingers twitched as the man squeezes _tighter_. Hurting her.

 

“You don’t give the orders in here Ren. How many times I gotta say it?” Finch sneers at the pathetic inmate. 

 

_The sick bastard was using her pain to prove a point._ Trying to keep Ren in line.

 

Evie whimpers and tries to rip her arm away. “Finch. _Let_ me go.”

 

Kylo lurches for the door when he hears her mewl of distress. Numerous pairs of hands from the guards descend to subdue him where he knelt. The air about him humming with unchecked rage.

 

_Her caged beast can’t defend her out here. No matter how hard he tries._ Finch thinks.

 

“ _Please_ , let go of my arm...” She grits out through clenched teeth. Though a little more forcefully. She wrenches and reminds him that she’s there. Her skin pinched and sore under his grip.

 

“Don’t say _please_ to scum like him Kitten.” Kylo tells her. His eyes were pools of pure hatred as they fixed on the Shrink. He’s been tugged to his feet now.

 

She grapples her arm out of his hold and steps backwards. 

 

“Next time you want to _hurt_ someone to prove a point, Dr. You better think twice about trying to make it _me_.” Evie tells him in a shaky voice. Her jaw set. Her eyes trying their very best to be stern.

 

_Fuck_. It’s adorable and his cock twitches with longing and Kylo’s oddly glimmering with pride at her in that moment for standing up to the scummy man.

 

_There was his kittens little spark of fire. He knew it would rise if she was pushed..._

 

Kylo grins. Where they’d beat him blood dropped down his chin. And dripped from a gash in his cheekbone where it had split. 

 

She holds herself tall and gives him one last look. Clutching her bag. Trying to muster her dignity. Before she side eyes Finch and then turns to scurry away. Her heels clacking down the hallway. Her weak, still trembling legs spiriting her away from the terrifying encounter that she know she needs a _lot_ of alcohol and a _lot_ of bravery to recover from.

 

She turns back and sees the giant form of him as he was ushered out the room with three guards wrangling him. He stops for a moment and turns his head to look at her. And there’s that smirk.

 

Her stomach quivers and the air is electric. Charged hot and heavy when their eyes meet.

 

She can _feel_ his smirk and his eyes weigh on her even as she walks away. Burning holes in her back. She can hear his rasping voice purring at her as she walks off. Even though he hadn’t said a word.

 

_You’re mine now, Kitten._

 

Oh, She’s in _no end_ of trouble.

 

 

~ 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Dignity & Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawling out my trash pile and I’ve been doing just fine
> 
> How about this for angst; Kylo finally getting what he wants.... 
> 
> Then having his kitten snatched away by guess who; all to keep him in line. He hits Kylo where it hurts and takes away his pretty toy.
> 
> I know I don’t do angst often. But there’s a very good reason for it that shall come to fruition in about - roughly - 3 chapters’ time...
> 
> Hang in there folks.

 

_4 Weeks later_

 

 

The next time Kylo is sat down across from her. Evie has never realised she could feel such _pain_ on another human beings behalf. But she feels it for Kylo. She feels it then - a sharp pang in her heart like a piercing hot dagger - when she sees the sorry state of him;

 

When he lowers down into the seat. He moves slowly, too slowly, carefully. Almost wincing when his torso shifted. She held no false illusions as to diagnosing his pain: he’d been beaten. _Hard_. She watches his glance wash over her as his cuffs are attended too.

 

They’d clapped him in full body irons like a disgraced circus animal. A dangerous attraction, scarred, beaten and brought to heel. Beasts in the Circus always seemed the most pitiful sight to her. A glorious, wild, beautiful animal reduced to prancing and performing for the entertainment of others. Trodden down. And kept in chains. 

 

 

Chains wrapped around his waist. Joined his feet. Kept his hands closely bound to his body. And they _did_ remember to fix him into the table this time.

 

His face was bruised and the several cuts that split his skin looked recent. A gash above his eyebrow looked swollen. It almost married with the blossoming spread of a purple-blue bruise under his eye. His plump lower lip was split too. And the highest plane of his cheekbone bore another dark, ugly bruise surrounding another thin fissure in the skin.

 

She swallows back something sour and sad that feels like grief stinging the back of her throat. She’s angry too, but that isn’t what consumes her. That will come later when the guard makes a snotty comment to him. Or when Finch undoubtedly reminds him whose in charge with that horrible, coffee stained sneer, that shows off his crooked smile.

 

She has a persistently domestic wish taking up all thought in her head at the moment: a desire to rub an ointment balm on those wounds to help them heal. Helping cleanse away the cuts of dried blood on his face with a flannel. Silly stupid romantic notions. Holding an ice pack to his sore face to calm the swelling.

 

She’d have to start giving those sappy Veronica Henry novels she loves so much, a rest, she thinks. Or she’ll start imagining herself as Florence Nightingale mopping the poor man’s fevered brow.

 

He looked at her across the table like he usually does. With that expression of his she had never quite learned _how_ to read. And the start of his trademark curling smirk tugging on his battered lips. Face: as ever impassive. Eyes: as ever, assessing.

 

He watched her adorable little face fall the second he was shuffled into view. That furrow so deeply set in her brow, it bunched up her whole forehead. She swallowed and he saw her eyes flicker across every wound of his visible to view. He watched her small body hunched up in her seat as she gazes at him with an expression and air to her, like a kicked puppy.

 

“ _Kitten_. I’ve had far worse.” He explains when the guard sidles away. Today they are given _no_ liberties. A guard stands watch in the room. One stationed outside the door too.

 

She shuffled in her seat. Not saying a thing. Then again. She didn’t need too. She opens her mouth and he answers before she can speak.

 

“I can read your earnest, worried little face like a book.” He tells. Resting his arms on the table. His back and shoulders were too sore to lean against anything. He seriously suspects Finch may have broken one or two of his ribs. _Again_.

 

_Lord help him,_ the fact she was almost in tears over seeing him was the most adorable thing.

 

“It’s not right...” She says lowly. “They shouldn’t be able to _treat_ you that way, and get away with such brutality.” She says gravely. Her face still pinched. She looked across to the guard who stood stony faced. Not listening in. _Luckily_.

 

“They can do what the hell they want to me. They aren’t the ones in cuffs, and they let me know it.” He tells her. “Don’t get upset about things you can’t change, Evie.” He warns her.

 

She swallows. He sees something then that only he could pick up on. She averts her eyes. And looks down at her lap; worrying her lower lip with her teeth. _Was that guilt he could see?_ He narrows his eyes slightly. What was she up to in that sweet, kind head of hers?

 

“Since you’re here. Am I to assume you’ve yet _more_ , questions?” Kylo says with an air of amusement lingering on his tone.

 

She wets her lips. And nods slightly. Yet everything she had to ask seemed so pathetic in the face of current events.

 

“I wanted to start by thanking you - if it isn’t too trite.” She tells.

 

Kylo silently tilts his head. That, she had learned, was her queue to keep talking.

 

“I accessed Linetti’s files. Turns out he was brought in for...” She trails off. Finding her words. “Raping and mutilating a prostitute.” She says quietly. “Apparently he carved up her face. _Tortured_ her. Then laughed at her pain.”

 

“I shudder to think what might have happened _if_...” bile rises in her throat. Shutting down her words before they could make it past her teeth.

 

_‘If he got his hands on me,’_ were the words she didn’t have the courage to say.

 

Kylo recognised she had been truly shaken by the experience. He’d forgotten that she wasn’t from inside this place: she was sweet. And good. Kind. She still had that sort of naïve innocence about not knowing and being oblivious to what some men were really like.

 

She’d never seen the truly ugly side of human nature that Kylo had seen. Both inside this place, and out of it. He’s seen things that would make her little weak heart shudder.

 

“I wouldn’t have let him lay so much as _one_ finger on you. Kitten. Believe me.” He tells her firmly. Merely by the look in those flickering gunpowder eyes; she trusts him to be telling her the truth. He’d said it then and he reaffirmed it now.

 

_Kylo always protected what was his_.

 

She nods. Bolstering her courage. A small smile raising her rosebud mouth.

 

“Well. Thankyou for defending me so thoroughly from him. I realise you put yourself in harms way with some very serious repercussions for my benefit.” She apologises. He says nothing but he does smirk.

 

“Worth every bruise and broken bone the way I got to _touch_ you.” Kylo lusts at her. His piercing eyes never leaving hers as he looked at her longingly over the table. As if he wanted to rip it right up out the floor it was screwed into to get it out his way. Chuck it aside, take her in his arms again and-

 

She blushes. And then, of course, tucks that straying piece of hair back behind her ear.

 

“It was, _uh_ -“ heat poured into her face more when she recalled what happened when he touched her.

 

Her blush betrayed her; over and over at night. Whenever she closed her eyes, laying in her soft bed, she could still _feel_ the rasp of his fingers as they skimmed her skin. She felt his touch echo through her. From the tips of her toes to the root of her hair. It consumed her. Ate her alive with longing. Such desire that was chewing her up, heart, body and soul for him.

 

She also can’t deny every time she reflected on it, it had made her nipples prickle hard, pushing up under her nightgown. And an annoying knot of energy pulses in her abdomen. Rushing heat and longing between her legs. She ignored it every time. It was an impossible want. _He_ was an unattainable want. 

 

“It was _not_ objectionable...” She finally answers. Nervously fingering her notebook. Averting her eyes to watch her fingertip skim over the pages.

 

“Calm it with that dirty talk. You’ll get me _ripping_ through my jumpsuit.” He flirts. His ribs hurt with mirth.

 

Of course, another part of him is highly flattered. He’d unleashed such, desires, such things in her, that she, a writer, didn’t have enough coherent vocabulary to fully describe the _effect_ his nearness had on her.

 

_She was so goddamn cute. How was it a lion like him had become obsessed with such a meek little lamb?_

 

She smiles at his joke. Cheeks flushing at her choice of words. He must think she’s a frumpy boring idiot by this point. 

 

“Well. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You really won’t be in the mood to give me any answers then.” She piped up.

 

“Chance your luck. I’m feeling generous today.” He lets out with a lopsided grin.

 

“Where do I start?” She asks rhetorically.

 

He was taking this golden opportunity with both - shackled - hands.

 

Kylo’s eyes flashed with something wicked. “Let’s swap questions. I get to ask _you_ one. You get to ask _me_ one.” He smarts.

 

She folds her arms in her lap and leans forwards a little. Shuffling closer on her seat. “ _Ok_ then, Ren. We’ll play it your way.”

 

_They’d been playing it his way the second she first stepped foot in this prison._

 

“What happened to calling me Kylo? Kitten?” He teases.

 

“Does that count as one of your questions?” She asks slyly. That makes him smirk.

 

Were he not in cuffs, he’d have her on his lap, or over his knee for cheeky questions like that. Spank that peachy ass a raw crimson. Watch the shape of his massive hand blossom red across her round little ass. She’d be crying out his name, _his first fucking name too_ , in that limbo state between both pain and pleasure.

 

Then he’d curl two big fingers deep in her pussy and feel how _wet_ he’s made her. Feel her tight hot cunt gripping his fingers like drenched velvet as he plunges then deep. _So_ goddamn deep. To places none of her shitty exes had ever bothered to reach for her. 

 

And he just _knew_ she’d be drooling and dripping for him when he’s done. His good little kitten was just aching to be shown how much she liked being bad and wanton, all for him. That’s half the reason she was attracted to him. The aspect of his danger. He flattered himself he was the ultimate “wrong side of the tracks” bad boy fantasy. She thought she could tame him? Think again. He’d never be tamed. His very nature was polar opposite. 

 

“Absolutely not.” He warns with a playful edge. Coming out of his erotic daydream and back down the earth. He can never help himself. He always sits through their conversations with his cock straining half-hard.

 

Even when she first met him. The way she shuddered and flinched, scared from him rattling his shackles. That sent a jolting thrill through him like nothing had before. Got him so raging hard it almost _hurt_.

 

“Show me your left arm.” He demands.

 

Evie doesn’t need to point out that wasn’t a question, and more of a command. Judging by that incontestable hardness in his eyes, she’d comply without fuss. She hesitates for a second. 

 

He urges her onward. Gruffly.

 

“Sleeve. Kitten. _Now_.”

 

She does as she’s told.

 

He watched as her small hand reached over for her cardigan sleeve, and slowly peeled the sleeve down over her nimble wrist. He sits and watches until he see’s what he knew he’d find.

 

It seems he wasn’t the only one wearing bruises.

 

A ring of them circled her lower forearm. Yellow green streaks sat in the thick shape of hand having gripped her too hard.

 

He never knew he could feel such throat-choking hatred for a man he already loathed to hell and back. But now he saw the letch’s fingertip bruises gripping her arm, he knew it to be possible.

 

His expression went stiff and his jaw set.

 

“It doesn’t hurt.” She tries to assuage him. Putting her sleeve back up. Needless to say, her gentle persuasion doesn’t work. Nothing will. The man was under his skin now. In his sights, and his haunches were raised. He was a predator who’d scented blood and now he was on the trail, there was no stopping him.

 

“I’m gonna _fucking_ -“ He starts in a growl.

 

He snaps his gaze from her arm back up to her face when she hides the bruises again.

 

“My turn, Kylo.” She starts softly. He did promise, after all.

 

Distraction. Cheap ploy. _Little minx_.

 

“Why did you take away the guards keycards and get Linetti alone in here?” She enquires quietly. Almost under her breath so the guard wouldn’t hear.

 

He smirks lightly. “ _That’s_ what you’re curious about?”

 

She nods. “You planned so diligently to get him in here. _Why?”_ She asks.

 

_Because of you;_  Is what he doesn’t say.

 

“He was rude.” He answers simply.

 

Evie blinks at the simplicity of his answer. “Rude to you?...” She seeks.

 

Anytime he thought back on the filth he overheard the moron was spouting about her. It set his teeth clenching. _‘She got a real cute cunt man. I swear. Then she looks at me, right at me, licks her fucking lips like she wants to suck my dick. I bet she’d look fucking good on her knees.’_

 

He couldn’t stand to have that fucked up pervert have fantasies of _his_ kitten in his head. Therefore, the only choice he had left was to beat him senseless, stamp those fantasies out of reach and yearning of that fuckers stupid brain.

 

His knuckles clenched into a fist, cracking and popping where he had them resting in his lap. 

 

“Just rude.” He adds succinctly. Confirming his point.

 

She nods in understanding. He was short fused in his temper. She’d come to know that about him at the very least. It didn’t take much to get his temper going. What was so chilling was the fact he always seemed level headed, so calm, even in his anger.

 

She’d watched him choke a man half to death and he’d not even turned a shade.

 

“My turn.” His dark eyes glinting bright with intrigue. She wets her lips in anticipation.

 

“Do you enjoy coming to see me?” He asks calmly. Tilting his head at her in that dangerous way he does.

 

“You’re... very.” She swallows “Intimidating.” She says weakly.

 

“ _No_. There’s more you want to say to me...” He tells her in a drawl. He wasn’t wrong.

 

“At first you scared me. And if we’re being completely honest with each other. You still scare me now.” She tells.

 

_Good_. He thinks. He wants his kitten to remain wary. Even if it was of him. He can’t have her letting her guard down for anyone. 

 

“You play with me. Toy with me. Challenged me. And _yes_ , I can’t explain how, but I have come to look forward to our conversations. There’s no one I’ve ever met that’s quite like _you_ , Kylo.” She explains.

 

She was worried she’d offend him with her honesty. But he was sat back smiling at her proudly.

 

“I can explain how...” He tells her lowly. Looking her dead in the eyes. Sitting forwards in his chair. Getting as close as he could. Where his hands are shackled, he lets them slide under the table, onto his knees.

 

“I intrigue you. Maybe I even excite you a little bit.” He predicts. Narrowing his eyes with pleasure at her blushing cheeks.

 

“You think no one see’s you. That no one notices you for what you are. You don’t believe anyone could want you. Desire you. But I _do_. I noticed you from the second I saw you kitten.” He tells her.

 

“And maybe, yes, you are here because you like your job and you’re good at it. But I know a small part of you craves to see me because I’m everything you shouldn’t want. But you _can’t_ stay away. Your boss won’t let you. Your curiosity won’t let you. Your _desire_ for me won’t let you.” He smiles.

 

Her mouth gapes and she looks across at the guard. He refocuses her attention back on him by slipping his hand forwards and softly letting two fingertips brush over her bare kneecap.

 

He listens to her breath hitch. Her skin pulsing with goosebumps, and he doesn’t need her to tell him he’s right.

 

“How come you always make it so I hardly know what to say?...” She asks in a breathy whisper.

 

“It’s called longing, kitten.” He explains. Hand still on her knee. His thumb brushing over the knobbled bone beneath her skin. Even through the silk of her sheer tights, he could feel how soft her skin was.

 

She’d never felt something as potent as this rock her body before. It sent thrills through her nerves like fireworks popping in the November night sky. Bursting. Shrieking. Clanging loud. He made her lungs stutter. And turned her into a weak limbed _idiot_.

 

“But-“ She begins. She wanted to point out the illogicality of this. This attraction that could never be. Never go anywhere. Never flourish into anything more...

 

“ _Don’t_ say it.” He warns her. His eyes brimming with desire. _Don’t even think it. Not whilst we’re like this._ He adds _._

 

_Not whilst I’ve got my hands on you at fucking last, Kitten._

 

_“_ Time _.”_ Barks the guard from across the room. The sharp clatter of his voice disturbs the private little bubble they were so all wrapped up in. The utopia of each other’s company.

 

Evie shrinks back in her chair and gathers her bag. Kylo recognises her withdrawal. Her confidence burrowing in on itself.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ try and stay away from me, Kitten.” He tells her in a low growl at the guard is almost upon them.

 

Evie looks across at him. She watches those dark eyes set in that beautiful, full featured face. Plush lips. Bruised and battered. And it sends a bolt of desire through her. Maybe this was a losing game. Maybe it was like tethering herself to a sinking ship. It could only end in disaster and pain.

 

But she didn’t care- everything he’d said was right. She just couldn’t keep away from his indomitable, dangerous man.

 

“I _won’t_.” She promises. “I don’t break my promises.” She adds. The guard is yanking his chains free. And hauling him up and away. Out towards the door.

 

But not before he gives her that dark grin that has her knee deep in _so_ much trouble.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When she gets back to her office that afternoon, she is stuck solidly in her own head. Replaying their conversations and meeting over in her head on a loop, like she usually did.

 

She gets to her sad little cubicle desk. Drapes her coat across the back of her chair. Pulls out her notes. And gets going on another long day of compiling and gathering evidence.

 

A sharp call of her name brings her back into reality.

 

“Winslow.” They shout sharply.

 

Her _boss_.

 

He’d stuck his head out his office door and called her name in a disapproving bark. When she turned to look. He crooked two fingers at her and beckoned her over with a face full of thunder.

 

Mr. Stewart - Don Stewart - was a portly, greying man, thoroughly middle aged. With thick square rimmed black glasses sitting  centre on his broad featured face. He was a typical white collared, embittered, true American. He was harsh and unforgiving as a Boss. Played golf more than he was in the office, and was so transparently patriarchal it made her want to roll her eyes - _if_ she’d been a braver woman.

 

She eased from her seat and crosses to his office. He was already behind his desk. “Shut the door.” He demands blithely.

 

She does as she’s bid. Shutting the door so it clicks with dreadful finality in the latch.

 

She waits to be addressed. She doesn’t want to sit on one of the chairs offered opposite his desk. She had a feeling by the terseness of his voice, she wasn’t in here to be told she was employee of the month.

 

She stands opposite his desk. Hands folded. Face creased in agony with waiting on whatever he had to say. 

 

“You’re _off_ the Ren case.” He starts with a crushing blow. Her mouth gapes and she feels her ribs crushing in on her heart like a vice. Squeezing air out of her strangled lungs.

 

“If it’s a matter of the deadline, I just need a couple more visits. Kylo isn’t the easiest of prisoners to negotiate with-“ she tries to defend. He cuts her off.

 

“It isn’t a matter of deadline. It’s a matter of _you_ personally and recklessly damaging the name of this great publishing house.” He tells her. Folding his hands on his desktop. His gaze was stern and horrible, set on her. 

 

Her heart felt like it was in her oesophagus with dread.

 

“I’m afraid don’t understand...” She gasps weakly. A hand going across her middle. She felt like her sides were splitting. 

 

“You didn’t deserve such a high profile case. And I was foolish to have given it to such a middling writer. I can see that now.” His words jabbed like thorns, pricking at her sore pride and drawing blood.

 

“I got an email today from Dr. Gregory Finch. The shrink at Silverpine Penitentiary. He informed me you’ve been discourteous, unprofessional and have formed an _unnatural_ attachment to one of his inmates. In doing so you have caused this prisoner to incite unrest and make life very dangerous for him, and his fellow prison guards... He’s asked for you to be _removed_ from the case for the inmates own good. Which is _exactly_ what I’m going to do....” He says. Idly flicking through some paperwork.

 

Evie shook her head. “I was just _talking_ to him, asking questions. There was nothing unnatural about the meetings I had with Ren. Exactly what you briefed me to d-” She argues. 

 

He stops her talking as he holds up his hand to halt her. He wasn’t even looking at her now. He was reading the manuscript before him.

 

”You may have given the guy a hard-on  Winslow. But you didn’t get anything _useful_ from him. You didn’t do your job.” 

 

She bites back tears and the grief that cloyed thick in her throat. Making the back of her tongue feel sour.

 

“May I ask whose been assigned onto the case _instead_ of me?” She asks.

 

“I’ve given it to Michaels. He’s one of our best writers.” He jabs at her.

 

Michaels was a coked up playboy with a superiority complex. His writing was, at best, sub par. The same writer who did coke at the Xmas party and had an affair with the married Editor from the fifth floor, all over the office. The kind of nasty, womanising ass who thought he was lord and master of everyone and everything in this office.

 

“Kylo will not reveal anything to Michaels. _He’s_...” She struggled for the words. “He won’t talk to people he doesn’t know or trust. Michaels will get _nothing_ out of him. He’s just going to antagonise him.” She points out.

 

“It’s my decision to make. Winslow. I wasn’t impressed with your output. And I will not risk this case. I’m only annoyed with myself I gave it to a writer who isn’t worthy of it.”

 

Evie swallows. Tears prickle, spearing, at the corner of her eyes.

 

“You were taking _too_ long on research. And your writing process for this, has been lazy and abysmal.” He informs. “I can no longer have _you_ ruining the name of this company.”

 

“I-“ She exhales through a broken chest. Looking up to try and stop the bawling tears bursting from her. He holds his hand up again. Shutting her up, the same way he did in team meetings. Treating her like an annoyance.

 

“You may take the rest of the afternoon to clear your desk. Winslow. You’re _fired_.” He finally swings the axe. 

 

Nodding his head to the door in terse dismissal. Answering his phone which had begun to ring. Spinning around in his desk chair. Ignoring her.

 

_That was it_. That was all the attention she deserved, apparently.

 

She blinks and turns on her heel. Heading for the door. Not knowing what else to say. She wipes away angry sad, hot tears that spilled as she heads to her desk and begins to clear it. She lets more tears fall as she meekly loads up a paper box with her things. A desk plant. Her pens. Her books. 

 

She then glances across at the notes she’d made on Kylo. Her draft of three chapters of his life’s story and his inmate experience. She wrenches it into her hands and consigns it to its doom in the bin. Wiping the back of her hand over the salty wet gathering down her cheeks. Stinging her eyes behind her glasses.

 

The guys in surrounding cubicles have her a wide berth. Acted awkwardly like she wasn’t even there. _Too awkward to even look at the only crying female in the office._

 

She is still lumping stuff miserably into a box when a knock comes on her cubicle wall. She looks over to see Michaels suavely leaning against her desk.

 

“Knock, Knock” He grins. His smile was too white, and toothy. He was tall and lean. And had a foppish manner about him, head full of golden curls. His eyes were a racing green colour, and cool, distant, like bottled poison.

 

“What do you _want?_ ” She asks in a tiny, croaking voice. Heaping her shelf of notebooks into the box. Heaving her coat across her shoulders. She was just about done here.

 

“I wondered if you had any pointers on this, Kyle, guy...” He asks. Because, _yes_ , he was just that tactless to the girl who’d just been fired. Always putting himself first... 

 

Evie hauls her box of things into her hands. She sniffs. Straightens. And turns to him. 

 

“Be very, _very_ , careful. Michaels. Kylo will see right through a guy like you.” She warns ominously.

 

Before she skirts around him and walks away. Her heart dragging heavy at her feet like a ball and chain, dragging solidly after her, across the drab grey carpet.

 

Her career and professional dignity had just been dashed on the rocks like a splintered shipwreck. And all she could feel was sadness and pain;

 

Because she’d vowed to Kylo she’d _never_ stay away. And the misery of that broken  promise shattered her pathetic heart.

 

  

 

~

 

 

 


	10. Morons & Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdery Kylo takes no prisoners (pun intended)
> 
> Again. Wrote this on my phone so format is a little off. 
> 
> Thoughts? Thirsts? Hopes? Dreams? Tell me EVERYTHING on your minds. Hmu my reader darlings.

 

 

Kylo found himself now almost, dare he say it, enjoying, the long walk to the interrogation room. The prospect of such a sweet treat as seeing his Kitten after such a boring, heartless week was making him _ache_ with anticipation.

 

He smiled lightly to himself as he thought back to their last meeting. She was so reticent about it, but he knew if he just lay the sweetness on thick, she’d start to become enchanted by him. He was giddy over the fact that she mentioned he still scared her. That made him oddly proud. He liked keeping his obedient and tame little kitten on her toes. Keeping her wary.

   

_Sugar is sweeter than salt after all..._ His mother used to say.

 

Kylo had her now in the sweet spot, _right_ where he wanted her: weakly susceptible. Emotionally involved. And starting to blindside her attentions to that of his vicious nature.

 

Evie wasn’t a fool. But she _was_ a romantic.

 

By now she had certainly been taken in by the showcase of charm he chose to perform for her. The battered and bruised state of him last week had all but sealed that fate for her. Clinched it. Bound it in, tight, and enshrined it in truth. He knew exactly what it had done. He’d seen that desperate and invested look shift across her blue ocean eyes;

 

She’d started to feel for him. Started to understand that what she felt for him was lust, attraction, and understanding mingled with _hope_.

 

Her hope blossomed like a rare bud, unfolding merrily in the fake belief that he wasn’t as bad or as dangerous as they all made him out to be.

 

_That_ made him almost chuckle. She’s romanticised him as some poor, beaten down, inmate. A caged wild beast made tame for her. He taught her that beloved beasts could still bite when provoked. He’d thought almost snapping Linetti’s neck like dry kindling, on her last visit would see to that. But that appeared only to intrigue her.

 

She was hoping her softness, her kindness and her infallibly, ever-prevailing goodness would brush off on him like indelible pollen dust.

 

_Oh kitten_. He thinks with a wry ‘tsk’ of disappointment. _How wrong you are..._

_Her hope would_ _the f_ _irst and the sweetest thing about her that he’d shatter into pieces._

He’d snap that feeble hope in two with his big brute hands. Then he’d get started on the other parts of her he dreamt were just as sweet, in his fevered, sexually charged imagination. Ben’s little video stunt the other day confirmed a long held suspicion he had of his kitten;

 

She was sugar sweet from head to toe.

 

And he wasn’t even talking about her disposition; he was intending that remark to the soft pink heaven between her thighs. _Sweet pussy. Sweet tits._ And a delicious body he wanted under him from dusk til dawn in his bed.

 

His hand wasn’t anywhere near enough for him. Not anymore. Now he’d heard her moan. Heard how divine her pussy tasted. Heard her _cum_. It’s all he can think about. And the want has settled in his body like rotting matter and it’s eating at him alive. Akin to some hideous, dark growth taking up permanent residence under his skin.

 

He’s snappy about everything. Anyone who gets too close gets snapped at. Anyone who pisses him off gets a warning look or terse glares. His dark mood clouding his gunpowder eyes. She was haunting him at night. Stoking his lustful thoughts whenever his mind dares to wander for even a second. She was behind his eyelids as he slept and on his shoulder when he ate and showered. By his side, in him, _on_ at him, restlessly always, night and day.

 

And though he’s never done drugs or debased and wrecked his body in such a way; now he knows what addicts feel like. He knows what it is to need. He almost prays there’s no hope to free him; cause if he is let loose, god only knows what he’ll do to her.

 

All he does know is this; she’ll barely be able to hang on for her dear little life.

 

And after? She’d be so wrecked she’d never know _how_ to want another man beside him, ever again. Once he slams his way into her life, and her pussy, she’s claimed evermore as _his_. He’d make _damn_ certain of that fact.

 

His eyes switch up from his various reveries as the guards and himself round the corner to the long hallway where the meeting room was. Kylo was itching to round that doorway and see her again. She was like a balm to his hardened eyes. She was the only thing is this fucking place worth looking at. _Admiring_.

 

Whether it’s adoring the blush perpetually sat on her cheeks. Or the colour of her lips he swears could be the exact same shade as that of a blush pink rose. He also can’t deny the glasses and workwear was starting to turn him on so much too. It was drab and plain in itself, put she made it _so_ mouth watering dressing up those curves in such a loveless manner. It made him raring to get at the figure underneath.

 

He knew there lay a big pair of rounded hips she doesn’t know how to show off. He knows under her artless blouse sits a pair of tits so full and pretty, in a probably simple and unexciting bra, yet she never took cares to wear a top that flaunts her cleavage. She has perfectly shaped legs. And a soft, cute, round ass that was designed by the gods uniquely for the palms of his hands. She also had the most ivory-velvet skin. Soft. Just like her. Comfortable. Sensible. Predictable.

 

He. Knows. It. All. He knows about _all_ of her. Every fucking inch.

 

He can’t deny how her virginal bookish-ness really fires up his inner animal. Gets him going on imagining the ways he can corrupt her. Wreck her. He knows she’s never even coped with having a lover like him. She’s been wasted on trust fund pricks and low-life womanisers who aren’t even worth their weight in gold. They weren’t even worth a thought in his brain.

 

She’s never been debauched by a man like him. Never had someone like him make her cream in her innocent panties just from his voice alone as his teeth nip her neck black to bruise.

 

Never experienced what it’s like to have her legs over his shoulders as he fingers her pussy and looks her directly in the eyes as he does. Watched his two thick fingers stretch her tiny tight pink cunt right open. Make her watch when her orgasm soaks his hand. Nowhere to hide away from him as he pleasures her to heaven and back.

 

Never felt a cock like the one he’s packing, stretched to the hilt inside her. So big it’d barely leave room. Her whole world would narrow to the tip of his cock pressed inside her. She’d feel him in her stomach he’s _so_ big and _so_ deep. Her cunt struggling to cope with the sheer size of him, feeling his heartbeat throb through the veins on his length. And then she’d know. She’d just, _know_ , in her pounding weak heart, that there will, _never,_ be another man like him, for her.

 

He liked the way when he walked along this hall, that was usually when he started to sense the drift of her perfume. Notes of it lingering in the air to tantalise at his bored senses. She wasn’t supposed to wear scent. But he was so fucking glad she flouted that rule. He liked to selfishly think she wore it for his benefit.

 

He liked to daydream about her wearing _just_ her perfume on her hot, lust-flushed skin, just for his benefit, too. How much longer he can sit at the fucking table with a cute morsel like her opposite, is making him antsy to hear from his lawyers again.

 

He promptly filed away his urges for Kitten when he sees Finch step into the hallway ahead from the anteroom. His jaw ticks, the muscles there gritting when Kylo can see the leech is _smiling_ _._ Finch never smiles. He doesn’t know how. Yet there it is, a smug grin sits there, leering at him.

 

He narrows his eyes. Silver black slits. Like pinpoints. Needling at the shrink. His whole demeanour tenses. Corded muscles in his neck and shoulders strain tight, clenched in readiness, for whatever ugliness Finch is smirking about.

 

Kylo’s body was curling up into its broad, alert stance. The same way a predator poses for a fight. Or a challenge. He has a sick feeling in his rotting black heart that Finch knows something he doesn’t.

 

“What’s with the face?” Finch asks. Taunting him. Patronising him. That smile was so sickly sweet and morbid it’s starting to make Kylo’s stomach turn.

 

“Don’t feel so singled out. You know I’m never fucking pleased to see you.” Kylo answers gruffly. Gauging for the man’s response...

 

His grin splits wider and he chuckles.

 

That was abnormal. Any sort of barbed comment Kylo made in retaliation to Finch, usually earned him a bruise worthy jab in the ribs or thigh from a nightstick. This time? None came.

 

Kylo doesn’t let his face betray the angry curiosity that was starting to slither, cool and slow, up his spine. He keeps his expression neutral.

 

“I’m never pleased to see you either, Ren. I’m glad the feelings mutual. Now go enjoy your visit. I think it’ll be a, _really_ , memorable one for you...” He laughs in emphasis. Leaning in for the cell door and opening it for him. That toothy, stained grin still mocking him.

 

Kylo’s watching his Shrink’s every move with restrained caution. His black ice eyes hard, cold, like two shards of stone cold, black flint, nestled on the beach, wetted by the frigid oceans tide.

 

It was such a macabre thing to see on his usually glum, stale and tired face. It was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. Unexpected. And shocking.

 

It’s mocking nature giving Kylo’s gut instinct a sharp elbow in the ribs and whispering in a hiss it’s paranoia to him. Because whatever was making Finch smile like that, most likely meant he was revelling in tormenting someone and drinking in their pain, the way one would an antidote to poison. Finch would take it in greedily like a man starved. For he liked causing pain.

 

Kylo’s guides step him up to the door and he looks into the room, stony faced to see it only had one occupant.

 

_Not Kitten._

 

His gut rages and storms with unease needling at his innards. He tightens his jaw and assesses the blonde man whose waiting on him.

 

Plain navy blue suit, cheap fabric. Teamed with a trying-to-be-expensive shirt. Tacky watch that was trying to look like a rich one. He had unruly blonde hair and when he locked eyes with Kylo, he can see they are jade green. Coldly so.

 

Kylo hates him. Already. Merely by the way his disastrously cut-price suit _tried_ to look expensive. He can’t hide it. This guy was trying to be something he’s _not_. Kylo feels sickened to the stomach by his attempts at pretence.

 

His blood starts to fidget and shift with anger and annoyance. Pecking in away his once good mood. _Where the hell was his kitten?_

 

As he’s walked across and nudged into a seat, the man doesn’t even look up from twiddling both his thumbs to type a text into his phone. Leaning casually back in his chair, one ankle resting to balance on the opposite knee. Barely acknowledging Kylo as he’s clamped in, onto the table.

 

That annoyance Kylo felt seconds ago, was quickly flaring up into white-hot _rage_. And no one was safe from it’s reaches when that wrathful storm inside him snapped, and struck, like a terrible clap of thunder and lightning.

 

The guy finally managed to look up and flash a half bothered grin at him. Kylo tilts his head in a glare that would have sensible men pissing themselves with fear.

 

_Strike two for blondie_ _;_ He wasn’t taking him or his danger seriously. That will come back to sting him.

 

“Mr. Ren. My name is Doug Michaels I’m from Armstrong & Lowery. As you’re probably aware, I’m here to complete your criminal profile for our book.” He starts.

 

Kylo has _none_ of it.

 

“Where’s Evie?” He demands in a voice so dark and quick it was a growling snap.

 

Michaels leers lightly at him as he unscrews a pen and flips over a page on his yellow legal pad. He averts his gaze when he answers; looking at his notes and not the six foot four, stacked, bottled-up-hurricane of anger, growing fouler in temper, opposite him.

 

That sets Kylo’s teeth on edge, too. Being _ignored_.

 

_Strike three._

 

“Evelyn Winslow?” He asks. “I think she put in for a transfer or something to a different prisoner weeks ago. Don’t really know...” He says. Idly itching his chin.

 

Kylo’s teeth almost turn to dust, his jaw grits so tightly together.

 

“She requested a transfer from me?” Kylo asks again. His voice wire thin. Close to snapping. Fraying as sure as his temper was.

 

“ _Yeah_ _,_ haven’t seen her round the office much either. I think she’s out on assignment a lot.” He adds in boredom.

 

Kylo was taking deep breaths in through his nose so as to try and keep on the right level side of sanity. When what he _really_ wanted to do, was rampage.

 

He wanted to snap the chains off from around his wrists. Tear this room to nothing but coiling metal shreds, brick dust and rubble. Destroy every last person stood in his way who was pissing him off with his bare hands, until bloodied scraps of them, like chum, was _all_ that was left. Burn this whole asylum to the ground until all there was remaining of it, is ash and bone.

 

He wanted to do something to get rid of the wrath boiling over in his blood at Kittens betrayal. He wasn’t comfortable with loss. It made him angry. Made him violent.

 

Kylo didn’t know what was keeping him sane. He was holding onto his temper with what felt like the skin of his teeth.

 

“What makes you think I have any interest in talking to you?” Kylo grunts across the table. Dreaming about getting his hands around blondies neck until that satisfying snapping _crunch_ of bone shatters out from under his hands.

 

Michaels nods his head and laughs snarkily. “You’d get your name in a book. Get famous? Get a big fat cut of the cheque when it makes us millions?” He sneers.

 

“I don’t want fame or money.” Kylo tells stiffly. “I wanna he left the fuck alone, by people like _you_ , blondie.”

_“Well_. I gotta tell ya, chicks really dig the whole money and fame thing.” Michaels grins.

Kylo _glares_ harder _._ _  
_

_“_ Look _, buddy-”_ Michaels starts.

 

“I’m not your buddy.” Kylo spits out. Shaking his head in a low warning.

 

“This article could make or break my career. And I’m glad it’s been given to me. Evie, good as she was, didn’t really have the right _fit_ for this project. Sure, her writings alright, but she couldn’t hack something like this case. It’s way over her head. She’s _way_ too quiet. Her writing is much better suited to something more bland and let’s face it, _simple_.”

 

“You think?” Kylo asks. One inky brow raising.

 

Cause to Kylo, her work was nuanced, intelligent, but approachable. She told her stories in an enticing and simple way. Yet kept a good flow of detail and fact. Whereas Michaels was a load of over-fluffed dribble, complex to follow and soulless. His writing style spoke of an expensive Ivy League education wasted on a stupid moron.

 

“Oh god, totally. Now, don’t get me wrong she’s a sweet girl. Hell, she’s fucking _babe_. But she just isn’t right for this job. I don’t know what made my boss pick her for this if I’m honest. She clearly couldn’t hack it.”

 

Kylo’s knuckles cracked together under the table. Knuckles whitening. He knew he had to root out more from this idiot.

 

“You like her?” He asks. Trying to maintain an air of distanced disinterest. Make it appear he was asking from a small-talk point of view.

 

Michaels let’s out a smarmy chuckle. “We _ugh_ , screwed around a little on a desk at the Xmas party last year. You know under all that innocent girl vibe, she’s a fucking _lioness_ , man. Got some liquor in her that night, and she could barely keep her hands _off_ me. Quite the insatiable _slut_ when she’s drunk.” He lied.

 

_His kitten wouldn’t touch a man like him with a ten foot pole._

 

Kylo tipped a smirk up at the corner of his mouth. His eyes now entirely black. No light even refracting off them. Deep pools of inky antimatter.

 

He was picturing in his minds eye of how _good_ it’d feel to watch the tip of a knife push into his throat and unleash a river of warm red blood to spray over his skin.

 

“I think she’s intimidated by me though. Around the office, nowadays, she’s as quiet as a mouse. Quite the shame compared to the whorish drunk girl I fucked that night. Almost tempted to try my luck again with her, now I know what an easy lay she is...” He thinks aloud.

 

Kylo changed his mind; _no knife._ This scumbag didn’t deserve it quick. Maybe he’d plunge his bare hands into blondie’s guts and strangle him with his own entrails, instead.

 

_Why Armstrong & Lowery’s head publisher thought fit to send him the biggest delusional prick on the planet, he’d no idea_.

 

His mind was made up the minute he saw the cheap suit. Now with the other crap that has come spewing out the guys moronic mouth, he knew what he had to do to soothe the itch for violence in his blood...

 

“You make her sound like she’s gagging for it.” Kylo adds with a little smirk. Leaning in. Conversing like they were best pals.

 

The idiot falls for it. _Hook, line, sinker._

 

“Between you and me, I’ve had _every_ available woman in my office. The secretary’s are the easiest. They’re like _putty_ for a bit of excitement. Evie was exactly the same. Bored. Needed a distraction. They come crawling on hands and knees when they see what I can offer.” He smirks proudly.

 

Kylo’s heart lifts when after he leaned in closer and looks, he can, _undoubtedly_ , confirm the source of the guys babbling words and showing off; blown pupils, sweaty demeanour, erratic speech.... He grins. _Blondie was on something_...

 

“They must be putty now considering your boss gave you the biggest case on the office floor.” Kylo interjects. Leading him onwards. Flattering the peacocking idiot.

 

“Hey well. Man. Sorry to say this to a prison inmate like you who must be missing life outside these walls. But. By the end of this month, I’ll have more pussy than I know to fucking, _do_ , with. You get me?” He laughs.

 

Kylo smiles. And then nods slowly.

 

“I _get_ you.” He explains eerily calm, with the start of that smirk forming on his lips.

 

And a _plan_ forming in his head...

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie stepped out onto her sun warmed porch, cast aglow by the almost setting sun. That red-rust tinge of evening light casting its warm fingers across every bit of greenery it could lay hands on across the woods. Ever green leaf on every tree shone amber in the hot summers evening.

 

The day had been a muggy, dry one. The clouds trapping in the heat. But now the sun was out and shining brightly. Casting over every blossoming, well nurtured shrub and tree in Evie’s garden.

 

The hot breeze of evening is replete with the dying slopes rusty sunshine. Scented with warm green earth and sun baked wood dampened by muggy heat. Dancing along on the air too, there are warm notes of plants. Fragrances of lilac, lavender, jasmine and geranium.

 

She shuffled across to the corner of the front porch where her bench swing and deep wicker chairs sat. One of them amply filled by a fiercely stubborn yet frail, elderly frame.

 

“Here you go, Flo...” Evie says, handing one of her oldest friends a cold glass of homemade sweet iced tea. An Amber tumbler glass full with lemon wedges, ice cubes, and some of the mint she grows in her herb planter outback. Trusting to Flo’s fiery spirit, she’d requested a shot of bourbon to turn it into what she called a “dirty after hours” kind of tipple.

 

“ _Aw,_ bless your heart, Honey.” Flo grins, taking the glass from her and having a sip. Sighing in content after her first taste.

 

“I tell ya. _Just_ like your Gran’ma used to make it. No one I know makes sweet tea like you Winslow’s.” She cackles fondly. Resting her old knees back in the comfort of her seat.

 

Evie smiles and eases herself to curl up on the creaking porch swing. None of Flo’s boozy sweet iced tea for her. She stuck to a steaming mug of jasmine and camomile tea to warm her hands. She folds her knees up and relaxes back into the age old embroidered linen cushions behind her.

 

Dressed to relax in her bobbled grey cardigan, scoop neck blue shirt, worn grey leggings and tatty old slippers. Flo has long since made it clear their companionship need not require any sort of dolling or dressing up on _either_ of their behalves. As was evident by the fact she too was in her slippers, stretchy pants and wrinkled rose pink cotton button up. Her thick, sleek pink rinse swept smoothly into her usual clipped up beehive.

 

Evie cradles her mug of tea in her hands and lets the swing gently rock, as she listens contentedly to the sounds of the fading day dwindling around them. The swallows dipped and looped in the peach and blue sky above. Birdsong merrily cooed across the busy sounding wood. Bouncing and springing off every tree.

 

Flo had called in unexpectedly, bearing an armful of full pie dishes - her very famous cherry and peach - and a sympathetic ear for her recently unemployed friend.

 

“Don’t get yourself down about your job sugar. It happens to even the best of us. _Hell_. I got fired six hours into my first day as a filing clerk for a company in town cause I kept typing my words up all wrong. I squared my shoulders and called them a bunch of shallow assholes for not letting a gal make a simple _mistake_.” Flo smiles merrily as she happily rocks in the creaking old rocking chair. Ironically the same chair her gran used to favour.

 

Because although her granny was long gone. It was a soothing balm to Evie to know that her granny’s role in life had been - so lovingly - almost _immediately_ supplemented by a sweet, southern, fiery old spitfire of a dame like Flo. She had a feeling her Granny looked down smiling on the pair of them. Chuckling to see Flo kept up dutifully to her role as Evie’s sole family member and carer left on this earth.

 

“I think I could’ve been a Pulitzer Prize winning writer. And my boss would _still_ have found fault...” Evie pipes up. Gently sipping her tea.

 

“Then forget the man. And be well shot of him, and that job honey. It was wearing you _thin_.” Flo points out. “You worked your little bony ass off night and day for that company. And see how they repaid you? I seen you come into the market some nights worn ragged. Bags under your eyes blacker than tar. And you’ve looked all done in, _more_ than once, too, let me tell ya.” She berates sternly.

 

Evie rested the side of her temple on her hand. Elbow crooked to rest on the arm of the swing. Tasseled blanket beneath her bottom dragged along the warm wood deck. Toasted by the suns heat during the day.

 

“I’ve _never_ been dismissed in my life. It’s one of the most unsettling thing’s that’s ever happened to me.” She tells. “Even when I was at school, a teacher never so much as raised their voices to me. I’ve _never_ been one to be in trouble, or get fired.” She adds in gentle disbelief.

 

“Sounds like you were overdue, then.” Flo barks bitterly with a laugh, and a smile. Evie smiles, averting her eyes to watch her finger as she traced the rim of her steaming tea cup.

 

Flo watched her with the keenest eagle eyes. She raises her glass to her lips to sip. Before she thinks better of it and speaks instead. Evie looked so crestfallen. So disappointed with herself.

 

_And inside, she was downcast with herself for more reasons than she was letting on... Her broken promise to Kylo still being the main one that clamped down painfully on her sore heart._

 

“ _Oh_. Listen here honey. I know you’re probably feeling a little vulnerable right now. And I know you’re a good, sweet and kind girl who can make heads nor tails of the fact you feel like you’ve let yourself down... now, may I give you some advice, here, peaches?” She begins.

 

Evie took a sip of her tea as she spoke. But smiled and raised her eyes to her friend as she utilised her nickname from childhood.

 

Evie blinks up at her. “You’re not usually one to _ask_ before doling out your stern brand of advice...” She tells.

 

Flo sends her a dangerous look.

 

“I know right now you can’t see the wood for the tree’s, but, in time I think this may turn out to be a blessing for ya.” She begins. “You’re a great writer Evie. And that company and those jerks weren’t seeing the whole of your value. So use this opportunity and this scary new path to forge your way into a job where you _can_ be respected, and appreciated. And don’t have to fight every day against spoilt pricks to prove you’re worthy enough.” She insists.

 

Evie smiles at her. Leaning forwards and cupping the back of Flo’s hand. “Thankyou for the honesty.” She grants seriously.

 

Truthfully? She was scared. And she didn’t know where she wanted to turn, or what her next stepping stone would be. But Flo was making it plain to her, that the uncertainty and the overwhelming sense of not knowing, could actually be a positive thing.

 

Evie had been stewing for days with nothing but the panicking commentary rambling on in her own head with such negative, anxious worries, she never even _stopped_ to consider this could be a good thing for her, and her career. And dammit. Flo was right. Lately, she had been growing bone tired of proving herself with each assignment she took.

 

“ _Now_.” Flo demands. Slapping her nobbled knees with her bony hands, as she stands her drink down on the small coffee table before them. “Tell me what else had cute face of yours all pinched and worried...” She demands in a staccato gruff.

 

Flo was one tenth psychic. Evie was _certain_ of it. The wizened old biddy could peer into her mind with the same skilful capability other people used to plainly read a book.

 

Evie keeps ahold of her mug. And sighs gently. “It’s _nothing_ _._ Really.” Flo arches a snowy white brow at her in exasperation, and a ‘ _who-are-you-trying-to-kid?’_ look in her steely, unimpressed eyes.

 

“There’s this.... _inmate_ I’ve been talking too for the past couple of months... and, _uh_ , well- he...” She starts. Nervously picking fingertips at the smooth patterns printed on her mug.

 

“He’s _hot_ , isn’t he?” Flo asks straight up.

 

“ _Flo!_ ” Evie squeaks. Cheeks pinking up.

 

“You blushed. Sugar. You always do when you bring up a man ya _fancy_.” Flo winks. “You blush. And you tuck your hair behind your ear, there.” Flo tells her. Waving a knowing finger at her ears.

 

Evie’s hand sheepishly falls from where she had just been about to do that _very_ thing.

 

“He’s in prison for murder Flo.” Evie tells.

 

“Honey. Deep down. We’re _all_ animals.” The old timer insists with a flirty wink.

 

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this, come from you!” Evie laughs, bewildered. _Where had her southern paragon of christian virtue gone?_

 

“You’re gonna _miss_ his hot ass. Does that about sum it up?” Flo seeks.

 

Evie swallows and sips her tea. Her cheeks still insultingly blushed.

 

“Maybe?” Evie tells, with furrowed brow. “In all honesty? I don’t truly know. He’s a very, _intense_... terrifying sort of man. I’ve grown so used going to see him. His visits have become _so_ frequent in my life, it’s hard to imagine not having them.” She tells.

 

“Then go back and see him. Probably make his day, a hot lil number like you.” Flo insists. Evie fights off another blush.

 

“I don’t think he’ll _want_ to see me anymore.” She tells glumly. “I broke a promise to him. And knowing him as I do. He’ll.... build up his walls again. There’s _no_ hope.” She accepts with defeat.

 

Flo lowers her glass of tea from her lips. Scrutinising her.

 

“You really are gonna miss him, aren’t you?” She asks.

 

Evie bites her lip. Chewing the inside of her lower one in thought. She closes her eyes and gently shakes her head.

 

She needed to break away from all thought of Kylo Ren. Those consuming eyes and his purring voice. That terrible white smirk she saw, curling into a grin in her dark dreams. He was a lifer. What hope did she have of getting infatuated with an incarcerated man? None was the answer. Better she sever the ties now. As painful as it was. And as _much_ as he meant to her. It was time to let him go...

 

She can’t deny parting with such a divinely beautiful man as him would be agony for her. She keeps that pain locked down, and all to herself. She didn’t even fully understand it.

 

Maybe it was a passing crush, or a fleeting fancy on her behalf. Now she could chalk down their meetings as a jolt of a thrill, like an adrenaline junkie getting a quick fix, and now she can continue on with her career.

 

_Thing was... why did it feel like it was killing her to pull away from him?_ _  
_

Why was the memory of his touch a thing that made her pine, and ache? Why was his face the one she saw in her fevered dreams each night? Tormenting her with that dark wavy hair, gunpowder eyes, and tattooed muscles built like a Roman gods with his unforgettable beauty to match. And why was it his voice she’d forever miss, darkly cooing ‘ _Kitten_ ’ at her.

 

She swallows and looks up to Flo again. “Maybe I just, pity him. He’s quite a character. Perhaps it’s just my silly nature losing someone else that I’ve come to _depend_ on seeing.” She offers. Flo nods.

 

_She didn’t agree one bit with Evie’s lame_ _offering_ _of an_ _excuse. But she nods._

That girl had her harlequin romance novel face on. The kind that Flo had seen when Evie’s paramours had surfaced before, in the past. She had this far off look about her, dully glinting in the back of her eyes. She’d known the dear girl since she was a babe in her cot. She knew when Winslow was holding something back... whatever it was, she could usually _coax_ it out, eventually. But for tonight? She’d go easy on the girl. Clearly she was a bit bruised in ego from the setback in her career.

 

“Well. Darlin. My advice still stands. Grab life by the horns and go see him one last time. If you think it’ll _help_ , that is...” Flo says.

 

Creaking back on the old wooden rockers of her chair that whines under her slight frame. Her bony, being and pale hands sloped together in her lap as they cherish the quiet, hot, evening together. Flo rocked in her chair. Evie let the breeze gently sway her in her seat. And they listened contentedly to nature calling and fussing around them.

 

“You know... I think I _dated_ a guy who’d been to prison once...” Flo pipes up after a few minutes of silence. Her face cocked gently in thought. Combing through her memories.

 

Evie laughs as she lifts her mug to her lips.

 

“ _Oh_ , stop it, Flo.” She chides gently. Teasing.

 

“He was, _quite_ , the whirlwind let me tell ya. But my goodness, used to pick me up on his motorcycle - that wound my old papa up something crazy - and then he’d drive me to the beach late at night. The _things_ we got up too in the sand? I tell ya. It’d make Satan himself _swoon_ like a nun in July.” Flo reminisced fondly.

 

Evie nearly spat _out_ her tea.

 

“I’m not sure whatever it is you’re getting at, Flo. But _drop_ it.” Evie accuses with a pointing finger of warning. Narrowing her eyes playfully at the elder woman.

 

“No harm in an innocent flirt. Who knows. This inmate could finally spell and end to your dating slump of late, sweets.” Flo leans forwards and nods with a knowingly sly smile. A smile that as _cunning_ as the trickster of a fox in old fables.

 

“I’m not on a dating slump.” Evie admits. But quickly finds she can’t seek any evidence to back up her claim. 

 

“Always thought of it more as a dating.... _drought_ , myself.” She adds with a morose sort of gloominess to her jaded tone. Glumly standing down her empty mug. Leaning back and tucking her knees off to the side. Tugging a flowery, frilly trimmed pillow into her lap. Idly tracing a fingertip at the stitches in the fabric.

 

“Please tell me that Jim Guy ain’t still harassing ya online?” Flo growls in displeasure.

 

“He continues to send his _best_ and his contrition via email...” Evie sighs. Flo ‘tsk’s and rolls her eyes so far back, they flip backwards in her head like bluey grey marbles.

 

“Pack that cocksucker in, Evie. He _never_ treated you right.” Flo tells. Evie blinks a little at her short fused choice of words. She remembers vividly how ‘not right’ he used to treat her. Also remembers how he used to emotionally blackmail her into sex, too.

 

And sex with Jimmy had been, _nothing_. Nothing compared to way she felt when a certain convict got his hands on her... _Oh dear lord._ Kylo’s touch had made her shiver, and ache. Made her feverish. Flipping between hot, cold and breathless. It made her mouth dry, and her head spin and she wondered, dirtily, for a brief second of all that a dangerous man like him was capable of _doing to_ her.

 

There was something about his sheer size that made her feel quite... _faint_ , almost. Something about his confidence, the way he purred dirty words. His dominance over her.

 

He’d been right. Damn him. He was every bad, inked up, muscled, sociopathic, murderous thing she _shouldn’t_ want. _Yet she_ _c_ _arried on craving him anyway._

She almost started to wonder if his feeling was mutual. And then came _that kiss_ _._ _.._

_She’d_ _never been seduced or_ _kissed_ _that way in her whole life_ _._ It undid her. Completely wrecked her of every right feeling she understood. Addled her sensible brain. Made her knees weak. Made her wonder what it would feel like if Kylo got her into bed...

 

If he got her into bed with him. She had a feeling she’d soon know about that weak legs feeling he spoke so knowingly of.

 

_Sweet Christ,_ she can’t even allow herself to finish that dirty thought. Even the barest intimation of that idling fancy left her chest flushing up her neck, and beyond.

 

She berates her, filthy, mind. And refocuses onto Flo’s derisive comment about her worthless ex.

 

“He’ll forget me after the next bit of leggy blonde skirt comes along...” Evie promised Flo. After all, he’d said she was the _dullest_ girl he’d ever been with in bed. Her wounded heart would never forget that barbed little comment of his.

 

Flo rolls her eyes and scoffs about Men. As she finishes her drink. Melted ice clinking against the glass as she sips it down.

 

Their solitude and grousing and griping about the nature of some of the odd creatures from planet mars, is interrupted by a shiny white van trundling it’s way along the woods dusty lane. Evie sits up straighter when the van pulls up, into the end of her drives turn in.

 

She burrows her brow and reads the side of van to make clearer it’s business name; Sara Lawson Floristry, of all places.

 

Flo raises her brows and lets loose a low whistle. “Fancy place. You expectin’ somethin, sugar?” She asks.

 

Evie’s mind boggles. She stammers her answer. “N-no. Not in the least. Certainly not from _the_ most expensive florist in the state...” She offers.

 

A young delivery guy hops out the van and springs to the back. Opening the wide doors and bringing out a smooth, polished round box with artful print of the company name emblazoned expensively in rich gold.

 

Evie stands and heads for her front gate. The guy approached with a courteous smile. “Flowers for Evelyn Winslow?” He beams brightly.

 

Evie nods. Crossing her arms. Trying not to look as puzzled as she felt. She squiggles a signature on the paper clipboard he offers. And then the giant hat box of expensive greenery is gifted into her hands. She looks down at it, in disbelief. She captures the guy’s attention before he leaves.

 

“I’m sorry to bother you- was there a name left with this?” She asks.

 

“ _No_ name, I’m afraid, Ma’am. But a card was filled out. It’s inside.” He grins. Before tipping his baseball cap and clambering back into the truck.

 

Evie steps back up into her porch and sets the box down on the table. Her and Flo both lean in as she prizes off the lid. Evie gasps seeing what was inside.

 

These weren’t flowers. This was a work of _artistry_. Purple, green and white flowers all fused together, tied with thick grey velvety ribbon. The bunch was as big as her _arm_. Hyacinths, lilacs, freesias, violets, studded with ivory, wild delphiniums, eucalyptus and green bell. The scent of them was glorious. Heavenly sweet buds in bloom.

 

“This- this is...” Evie is in shock. _She was never the girl who got sent flowers. And never flowers like these..._

_“_ This has got to be at least _$600_ worth of flowers...” She gasps _._ _  
_

 

Flo plucks out the note and brings it to her eyes faster than Evie can stop her. Sweat nervously begins to line her brow. _What if it was her creeper upgrading from his usual vice of red roses?_ _  
_

Flo reads it aloud; _“Evie, baby. Do me the compliment of joining me for dinner at 8, tomorrow at the Regis on fore street. - Ben.”_ _S_ he finishes.

 

“Who the _hell_ is Ben?” Flo interrogates. “You holdin out on me Winslow? Whose _this_ joker?” Her beady eyes sparkling with interest at Evie. Who blushed as she lowers her nose to sniff at the intoxicating lovely perfume of her flowers. Flo could see her blush behind the purple white and green of the blooms masking her lower face. The sides of her eyes creased in mirth too. Flo could _sense_ her smile, even if it was hidden.

_“_ Twin of the inmate I told you about.” Evie offers. Gently carding a fingertip over a silky soft purple hyacinth petal.

 

“He hot too?” Flo asks after a short silence. Evie doesn’t answer but her _blush_ does so for her.

 

“That’s _it_.” Flo barks _._ Stomping her foot in proverbial finality.

 

“I’ve had about  _enough_ timid Evie for one night! I’m booking you in with Marge for highlights - she _owes me_ a favour. You’re getting that tea dress and those vintage shoes from the boutique in town. And tomorrow? You _will_ be going out with this hot Ben twin. Maybe it’ll get you over your inmate _funk_.” Flo commands as if her words were holy scripture.

 

Evie opens her mouth to protest and offer a shy excuse. But Flo shuts her up with a held out palm as the old Harriden shuffles inside to use her phone. Holding the note hostage. Evie doesn’t miss the old biddies words under her breath as she creaks past her young friend - as was doubtless intended.

 

“Who knows, maybe this guy can _finally_ give you some _sex,_ too.” Flo grumbles.

 

Evie hides her blush in the gorgeous flowers. Shaking her head. As she admires them, her stomach sinks a little when she thinks about Bens twin counterpart. Locked up on the opposite side of town.

 

She can’t _easily_ put aside - no matter how she tries - that guilty _twinge_ of pain.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Dates & Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh it’s filthy at the end. Oh it is so filthy. And can I just say t h a n k y o u all for being so patient! Yes I’ve been a little mean and let Evie flip flop between twins - but in two chapters time - all my evil evil smutty plans shall come to fruition. Personal Punk promise. 
> 
> Lots of love you filthy darlings
> 
> And you can take the “it was a dream” trope from my gnarled cold dead hands

 

 

 

 

Ben Solo was decadently dressed. A veritable picture definition of an urbane man. Sat at the bar with whiskey in his hand - it was his natural position. 

 

 

 

_Well - that_ , and a few others he’d mastered over his lifetime were his natural ones. Especially those positions involving far less clothing.

 

The bar of the restaurant was trendy, and chic. A lounge bar with a restaurant abutting it. The walls dominated with walnut tile. The floor a dark mahogany wood. Fixed with grey and white finishes.

 

His suit tonight was a tasteful Italian number. A clean lined black Valentino suit. Hemmed in to look crisp, simply paired with a white shirt and glimmering black Ferragamo brogues.

 

He looked like a poster boy for Italian vogue. Sat suavely at the bar, drinking his Disaronno sour. Letting the sweet burning tang of it sit on his tongue. Waiting patiently on his perfectly shy little date.

 

He smiled to himself wondering what cute number she’d be sporting tonight. He was just itching to find out. He had his eyes _trained_ on the door. Waiting for her to come.

 

_Mind -_ that was his state for most of his time recently. _He always_ had one beady eye trained on their Evie.

 

He took another sip of his drink, turning back to look at the neat bottles of strong amber booze lined up on the back wall of the bar. When he turned his eyes back to the door - a grin broke out across his lips.

 

_There_ she was.

 

Just stepping in the door. Thanking the polite person who held it open for her. Ben tilts his head, smile curling. And lets his eyes sweep from head to toe. _Feasting first with the eyes, so they say..._

 

Her dress was a foamy sea green. Jade, teal, and cobalt blue all rolled into one shade. The cut was vintage. A bias cut diamond waistline where the bodice met the skirt. A teasing little row of buttons sat below the V neck of her cleavage. The short bunched-shouldered sleeves flowed beautifully when she moved, much like the skirts, which swung to rest just above her knees. The dress clung to her round hips and complimented her gorgeous ass.

 

His eyes lingered on the pale of her décolletage. He wanted to press his face between those gorgeous breasts and tease her nipples stiff with his fingers whilst his mouth sucks at _that very_ patch of her skin. After all - he’d his hands on her pretty pert nipples. Now all that’s left is to taste and tease them to hard rosy red peaks _._ She had the _perfect_ shade of skin to show off his marks. Show off the path of his teeth and his lips as if he were charting a map of her body. Her skin was like a snowy pale vat of cream he wanted to lap up - It was just _begging_ for his brand on her. And _oh_ , he’d be sure not to be too gentle about it, either.

 

She searches for him for a moment. Craning out her neck, peering around for the sight of him. Holding her clutch bag in her hands. Folded demurely in front of her.

 

This caused soft waves of her hair to fall over the side of her face. That was different too. Shinier, sleek. A chestnut red shot through with rich russet undertones. Teased into a wavy vintage look to match that of her dress. She never usually wore her hair down as such. One section of it, true to her style, was tucked behind one ear. Showing him the glittering earrings sat in her lobes.

 

She looked like a 40’s starlet that had stepped straight out of the black and white Hollywood screen. But he liked that facets of her ‘Evie-ness’ still remained. She didn’t go all out to show off her body in a slutty dress like most of his dates usually did. She wore a beautiful garment to feel exactly that, in it. To feel and look _beautiful_.

 

Even if the wasn’t used to the deep crimson she’d painted on her lips for tonight. Even if her new silver shoes looked amazing, but pinched her toes a bit. She didn’t mind. She wasn’t at all used to being asked on a date with a _man_ like Ben. So she soothes herself by thinking that tonight, however scary, she can settle for _new_ experiences. And she can damn well enjoy them. As Flo had chided at her.

 

She finally lays eyes on him and her face breaks into a glad expression. Her smile stretching out. Ben puts down his drink and twists about in his seat. She walks over slowly. Edging closer until she comes to the empty tall bar seat available next to him. He eyes the way that dress of hers swishes and laps at her knees.

 

She comes towards him. _So unaware._ The same way meek unsuspecting animals walk unknowingly into hunters traps.

 

“Don’t you look fucking beautiful tonight, baby...” He tells her in a purr. Scanning her up and down. Ending by sinking those warm cocoa eyes into hers. Her blushed cheeks tint a little pinker.

 

She nervously bites her lip when he reached for her hand. Once again bringing it up to press a kiss to the back of her palm. Smelling the clean salt and tang of soap and geranium perfume on her skin. His eyes don’t leave hers as he presses his lips onto her gently.

 

He _knows_ it’s making goosebumps erupt across her skin. He also knows it’s making those beautiful tits of hers heave with a heavy breath. Her ribs swelling and sinking and her body alight with the way he had his plush lips on her.

 

_“_ You look lovely too.” Evie assures him with a smile. Her voice a little breathy. Because she wasn’t lying. _He did_. He looked like he should be on a high fashion magazine cover. His devastating beauty combined with his decadent taste in designer suits left him looking like a very dangerous womaniser of a man.

 

To be devastatingly beautiful is something he carries off well. She would, and had,  felt devastated to watch his gorgeous face and body leave the room.

 

His hand was still clutching onto hers. Shooting sparks through her skin. Settling heat up in her cheeks, and, not surprisingly, between her legs too. It would take a deeply powerful woman to resist Ben Solo’s charms.

 

She speaks up to distract the simmering lust she can see flaring up in his dark eyes. “Thankyou for the flowers Ben. They’re so beautiful. You shouldn’t have.” She smiles, settling into the seat beside him.

 

“If it made you smile? That’s _more_ than enough thanks for me.” Ben smiles across at her.

 

When her skirts brushed against his knee, he bit back a growl in his throat. Trying not to imagine his hand crawling up that blue skirt and sliding along one of those soft, virginal thighs of hers.

 

Because to him, and Kylo too, she was _as good as_ a virgin to the both of their voracious appetites when it comes to pleasing their lovers. Her meek nature to them, was more irresistible than any sirens call. It was two wolves chasing after a lamb. It was perverse. And sinfully wrong. But god, the chase felt fucking _good_.

 

_It would feel fucking good when they finally caught her too. They’d make her feel good. So good that their shy little lamb won’t ever think of leaving them again._

She settled into her seat. Folded one ankle behind the other. And gingerly rests her elbows on the polished bar top. The attentive barkeep slides her a drinks napkin and asks what she’s having.

 

“Dirty martini, straight up, with a twist please.” She surprises him. He’d have pegged her down for a glass of dry white.

 

“Sounds delicious. Same for me.” Ben grins. Again. His eyes didn’t leave her.

 

“One of my favourite drinks baby. How’d you know?” He smiles.

 

“I had a _hunch_.” She tells him with narrowed eyes. “A man who wears fine suits as you do. And enjoys doubtlessly fine restaurants. Classic drink for a classic man. Just adds up.” She offers.

 

“Well. I would’ve thought a girl as sweet, and gentle like you, wouldn’t go for spirits. Something elegantly understated. Something for the taste. A fine white wine. Robust red maybe.” He predicts. The bartender slides them over their drinks. Placing each of the filled, ice cold martini glasses before them. The garnish of lemon coiling through the chilled drink.

 

“Here’s to _you_.” Ben smiles as he lifts his glass to her and proposes a toast. “For gorgeous writers and their successful book sales.” Ben leers. Clinking glasses with hers. Evie puts on a smile. And they both sip their delicious drinks.

 

When Ben stands his down. She pipes up.

 

“Actually. Ben. I think it’s prudent I tell you that I’m not going to be a successful writer.” She starts. Ben gazes at her with his brows straightened with concern. She continues.

 

“ _Nor_ am I going to be on your brothers case anymore...” She tells him.

 

That sure as hell makes him sit up straighter. “Baby?” He asks her with a tilted head and a soft searching tone.

 

Evie takes a big gulp of her drink. Almost jumping out her skin when Ben gently lays a hand on her knee.

 

“You can tell me.” He warrants softly. His thumb stroking over her kneecap. Daringly stroking up the soft of her leg. His eyes flashing bright with warm concern. Those cocoa depths starting to melt for her.

 

She bites her bottom lip gently and gasps breathily a little at the feeling of all his hand on her skin did to her.

 

She stands her glass down and breaks out in a courage bolstering smile.

 

“Actually. I was fired.” She tells him. Dropping the bombshell. Gauging his reaction. Nervously fidgeting with her hands. Drinking in his expression.

 

“Your boss must be a _fucking_ jackass to let you go. Evie. I’ve read your stuff. That piece you did last year on the ADX prisoners you interviewed. Almost made me weep.” He tells seriously. His lighthearted comment made her smile break through into a laugh.

 

“You did not weep!” She teases him.

 

“I wept buckets.” He holds firm. Making her laugh even more. Her head tilted forwards as he watched that crimson white smile. Watched her toffee russet red hair catch the light as it shifted forwards almost onto her pale pink cheek.

 

He made a note for his simmering anger and his protectiveness for her to get onto her asshole boss, and get the particulars of her sacking another time. For now; he had a much sweeter pastime in mind. _Her_.

 

“ _So._ There you have it. I haven’t got any more questions for you. No more interfering, pesky, writer after you to annoy you with details about Kylo.” She tells him.

 

“No?” He asks her. Raising a wry brow at her. “Now that’s a great pity. Winslow. I was enjoying knowing my little writer was so _eager_ for me.” He smiles warmly.

 

She looks across at him. She too smiling gently. Before a question came careering forwards from the back of her head.

 

“If it’s not rude of me to ask- why _did_ you invite me on this date?” She seeks. Here was a man who probably had models, or film stars on his phone contacts. And yet here he was, with her, a glorified librarian who felt more at home in cardigans than Jimmy Choo’s.

 

Ben smiles cunningly.

 

“Because I _wanted_ to. After our lunch the other day, couldn’t _stop_ thinking about you...” He explains.

 

Her mouth gapes open. She’s certain she’s blushing through her rouge powder.

 

And it was then she registered that his hand was _still_ on her knee. His big palm covering most of it. Making her flush thinking of how he was just as big, and as all consuming as his twins. But where Kylo was dark and bad. Ben was more playful. More teasing. More exuberant in nature.

 

“Well. You certainly know how to make a girl feel so...” she stumbles for the word.

 

“Breathless? Weak kneed?” He purrs at her. His fingers skimming patterns on her skin left her brain absconding elsewhere. And her silly girly nerves all squirly with passion.

 

“Adored.” She answers. Meeting his eyes and feeling a surge of sparking, hot, lust roll through her when she did. Because he was looking at her in _exactly_ the same way. With such heat and yearning in his eyes it makes her weak heart skip a beat.

 

It was also making her shiver and goosebumps pimple her skin. Which she was positive he could feel under his hand. Knowing the effect he was having on her. It was so, _tempting_.

 

Her spine felt as if it was as strong as paper. Barely keeping her sat upright on her seat. Ben Solo, she’s decided, was a wickedly charming man. Too wicked for womankind’s own good. He was a dangerous man to be attracted too.

 

_Lord in heaven, it just occurs to her, now she was on the receiving end of knowing two of them._

 

“May I also ask if there’s any particular sort of, _agenda_ , to this evening?” She seeks.

 

“None at all - except getting to know you better. Baby.” Sweeping a coil of hair off her cheek, as he speaks to her openly.

 

_Lying through his teeth of course._ He knew everything he wanted to know about her. He’s eaten her sweet pussy and made her _cum_ for christ’s sake. But now he has all the time in the world to seduce her before Kylo gets wind of it. He can send flowers, shower her in gifts and romance. Feed the mania for her that runs through his blood.

 

Feed the wildness of his feral urges to get her in his bed and moaning his name til she’s hoarse and he fucks her eight ways til Sunday. How he was dying, aching, for that day to come. And it would. _Soon_.

 

He could do it again tonight. He could drug her drink and have her spread eagled on his bed as he eats her pussy out again. _But no._ He wants her compliant. Willing. He wants to feel her nails taking down his back bringing blood with them. He wants to know the sounds he’ll draw from her, like music from an instrument. The sounds she’ll make for him when she can’t stop cumming. How she’ll look fucking herself on his cock for her pleasure, at his whim. He wants her to be fully aware of every dirty debauched thing he’ll do to her body-

 

He wants to fuck her, and sate her. Pleasure her, again and again to the brink of madness. - Then wants her to groan a sob as he flips her over and starts on her _all over_ again.

 

A polite cough behind them signals a waiter coming to inform Ben his table was ready. He curls a grin and helps his date down from her barstool. As they walk to the table his hand remains on her lower back when they walk. It makes her tingle with toe curling pleasure whenever he touched her. 

 

Evie wonders briefly for a second, looking at Ben’s suave, pantie dropping smile, if he knows his proud smirk looks eerily similar to that of his dark, sociopathic twins.

 

Then she finds herself painfully aching to notice that actually, it wasn’t _quite_ the same. _He was different to Kylo_ _._ _And_ _w_ _hy did that make her feel_ _quite so sad_ _and disjointed?_

_~_

 

 

Dinner was exquisite. As she’d known it would be. With Ben, she’d never concluded that their decadent date would be any less.

 

She’d had a pièce de résistance of a quail. Soft as butter, served white wine and shallot joux, on a bed of truffle ravioli. Ben has opted for seared steak cutlets with cauliflower purée and chanterelle mushrooms, drenched in a fine red wine sauce.

 

He’d cut her a bite and fed it to her, watching her seductively with a heated smile as she ate it gently off his offered fork. Licking red wine sauce away from the corner of her lips. She returned the favour of offerance with a morsel of her delicately beautiful quail. The moan of approval he gave when she put the fork to his lips made her cheeks pink. He was even cheeky enough to capture her hand and suck away the drop that fell from her fork onto her skin; purring afterwards “Now that, _is_ , delicious.” And grinning like the cheshire cat.

How in hell the whole restaurant wasn’t gagging at their flirting was a _complete_ miracle. But she was too enraptured and smiling to care.

 

More so when they fought over sharing a devilishly dark, chocolate French cotillon for dessert. Layers of silky smooth mousse tucked between spongecake. Their forks tussled over who managed to spear the last mouthful of the pudding.

 

“Whatever happened to ladies come first?” Evie remarks kindly with a teasing smile. Though she wasn’t used to flirting that’s what she supposed her tone was.

 

The way Ben looked across, raising an arched inky brow of his, made her realise the double meaning behind her words. Which makes her gasp out a blush as she laughs.

 

“I always make sure the lady, _comes,_ first, Baby.” He flirts at her. Judging by the glint in his eyes matched with his swoon worthy smile. She trusts him to be telling the truth on that dirty matter.

 

She rectified the situation; she takes her fork, slides the plate closer and jimmies the fork straight down the centre of the mouthful of pudding left. Dividing it in two. Before sliding the plate back toward him on the linen tablecloth. He watched her, suavely taking a sip of his red Malbec.

 

“Luckily for you, I’m a selfless lady who can share nicely.” She smiles. Nibbling at her piece.

 

He hungrily watches her slide the fork from her lips. He knows if he kisses her right then. She’d taste gorgeous. _She tastes gorgeous anyway -_ but he knew in that moment, he’d be able to taste fine red wine and rich bitter chocolate on her sweet crimson lips.

 

“I never doubted that...” He leers. Leaning forwards and bringing his own fork to his lips and taking his share. Licking his utensil like a teasing devil designed to tempt her.

 

After he has an espresso, and she indulges herself in a deep domed glass of nutty almond-sweet amaretto. When the cheque comes, Ben covers her hand before she can even reach for her purse. He winks and lays down a company card. Which is whisked away and billed into his account. She smiles shyly when he insists dinner was always his treat.

 

They leave together. His hand on her back in that nice way again. The way that makes her libido _shiver_ in pleasure. As he escorts her to his car. A discreet chauffeur service too - she was beginning to feel like royalty today. He even draped his jacket over her shoulders when they come to the breezy cool night of the sidewalk. The hot night chilled with the threat of oncoming rain.

 

It’s starting to spit, drizzling, from the heavens a little by the time the car gets through the woods and gets her home. They quickly dodge the worst of the pattering rain, he bounds up her creaking little front porch steps with her, to see her to the door, at the end of their date.

 

She fumbles in her clutch for her keys. As they stood together under safety of her porch. The air rife with cold, the scent of wet damp moss of the forest, thick wet earthy greenery, and dewy rain surrounding them. It can be heard too, the hiss and smack of raindrops pelting the canopy of trees up above.

 

Her legs prickle with goosebumps. And she cannot know if that’s from the cold air sneaking up her skirts. _Or_ the man standing before her, very close, making her breathless.

 

She can feel the blazing body heat coming off him through his thin white shirt as he steps flush with her. Crowding her back into the porch railing. She gulps and tilts her head up to look at him as he stares down with a furnace in those warm bronzed eyes. It was damp, dark, and she’d forgotten to leave the porch light on. But she can see the glimmer coming off those eyes and the way he’s looking at her.

 

It’s a good thing the railing is there to lean up against and help keep her _standing_.

 

She regains her senses, and shifts his very expensive suit off her shoulders to give back to him. She’d balked a little in worry when she saw the Valentino label crowning the neck of the jacket as he hooked it over her shoulders. When she’d enquired as to his getting cold from only being in a thin shirt, he waves her off with a casual “ _I run hot,_ _b_ _abydoll.”_

She slips it down her arms and is about to shrug out of it when his attention goes to the arm she just unveiled. His big hand reaches up and gently thumbs over the crook of her elbow. She looks down and sees what he was so transfixed by. She had a couple of small band aids taped to her lower forearm. Surrounded by more jagged like scratches of cuts. She’d forgotten entirely about those.

 

“I meant to ask you earlier how those came about...” He says gently with a smile. He’d clocked them when they sat down at the bar. They quickly grew too wrapped up in conversation, and each other, for him to ask.

 

She chuckles. Luckily Finch’s groping bruise had mostly disappeared now - otherwise she’d have to explain that too.

_“_ I was pruning my rosebush this afternoon. It _uh_ , fought me _back_...” She says in good humour. He softly swipes his thumb over one of the cuts. Some of the grazes were still a little sore. The thorns she caught herself in were long and jagged. She’d torn her arm away and now it looked as if she’d fought off a hellcat.

 

Ben smiles hungrily. Before leaning down, bringing her arm up to press sweet kisses to her marred skin. The scratch of his facial hair brushed along her skin sending a flurry of need, want. Electric shock and clammy cold racing through her nerves. Alighting every one. She gasps. _She can’t help it._ It’s so erotic and so passionately caring, it isn’t a wonder how her lungs empty in under a second.

 

“Oughta be more careful where you put those pretty hands of yours.” He husks against her skin. His free hand slips around her hip and pulls her closer. Pulling their aching bodies to press together. By now, her spine is racing and thrashing with _need_.

 

_Doubly_ so now she was cosied up, wrapped up in the heavenly press of his body. All hard, Male muscle, standing firm and powerfully solid against the softness of her curves. She can feel his toned stomach, the rounded meat of his thighs and the trim slope of where his torso tapered into his waist.

 

Feeling the heat of his hand through the silk of her dress makes her thighs shiver, trembling as they clenched together. His hand that wrapped around the dip of her hip, skims up her back and encourages the jacket to fall away from her shoulders, pooling to the floor at the back of her ankles.

 

She wants to rush and catch it before it fell. _But, oh how she can’t..._

“Your jacket...” She whispers breathily. Wetting her lips thereafter, unsure where to place her free hand on him. It lingers, unsure. Perfectly overwhelmed by this big man and how deftly he was kissing her injured arm.

 

“ _Fuck_ the jacket. _”_ He leers.

 

His lips abandon her arm _,_ feeling how much he was making her tremble, he sets his seductive sights on another goal. He lowers her arm, and his hand curves around her lower back, keeping her crushed flat to his chest as he nudged her head to the side and goes now to pluck, kiss and suck at her neck. Smiling at the weight of her heavy breaths he could hear pounding out her chest.

 

He growls when he captures her corded neck with his teeth. Able to smell her perfume. Tasting the hot race of her pulse leaping under his tongue.

 

“Ben...” She shivers weakly. Her voice so hoarse, it made him hard. Which she could _doubtlessly_ feel. The hard heat of his growing semi sloping to press onto her hip. The way her little whimpers and moans couldn’t help falling out her lips made his heavy cock _twitch_.

 

_“Evie...”_ He answers in a teasing husk _._ He could feel her hands clawing into the shirt at his shoulders. Digging into fabric like her little fingertips would tear through.

 

_What was this man doing to her? One kiss to the neck had turned her to a mushy, needy puddle..._

_“_ How long has it been since you’ve been kissed, like this?” He whispers, before sucking on a patch of skin behind her ear. Using teeth to sting. To tease.

 

He chuckles onto the straining vein he was biting around on her neck, when she has to press one hand behind her to the wooden railing to keep herself steady.

 

“I haven’t...” she pauses to whimper. “Ever... been, _kissed_ , like this before...” she answers in a gasping rush of words.

 

_Well - once you have,_ her traitorous brain points out.

 

“You know just what a guy likes to hear baby.” He purrs in her ear. Nipping naughtily around her earring. He can hear how her desire making her voice thick.

 

_Gorgeous_. He thinks. _He wants that voice crying out for his cock, his mouth, his fingers._ He’d give _anything_ to hear that voice calling out for him tonight.

 

He spreads his hands down over her ass and cups it to tug her to grind onto his hard cock, pressing into her he thought would give him a grinding bit of friction and relief. But all that does is make it _worse_.

 

_Jesus dear god all he wants in his life right then is to sink his cock into her hot pussy and pound her and the night away. After that proves enough for him, he’d get her legs spread and spend hours lapping up the sweet cream from between these lovely thighs._

He grows desperate - _hungry. Ravenous_.

 

“ _Oh fuck_ Evie. Baby. You’ve no idea what you do to me... _fuck_ ” He growls. And she means, _growled_. It’s smoky rasp rumbled low in his throat like the distant thunder that was now gathering across the distant stormy grey sky.

 

The only way he knows how to sate himself with his severe case of blue balls for the evening ahead, is to grab one side of her neck and mash his lips into hers _firmly_. His tongue plunging into her weak little mouth, sucking and exploring. His big body now pinning her to the porch rail. Free hand clawing into the flesh of her thigh, skimming up her skirt as his tongue wrangled all the breath from her body and all the rational thoughts from her head.

 

He swallows all her whimpers and her groans. He gives her a kiss that made her body fall to absolute bits under his attention. His beard scratching her skin where his lips were soft like a pat of butter. He tasted of red wine and bitter coffee and she can’t deny how marvellously sexy it all is - His hands holding her with such passionate, bruising force, makes her feel like a boneless sack of skin, hot nerves, and _need_.

 

_It was almost cruel of him to make her need so much with just one kiss. Cruel. And definitely one of Ben Solo’s most powerful weapons against girls he had stashed away in his armoury of seduction._

When he pulls back, and far too soon too, she follows his retreat without knowing it. Her head tilting up to capture every last bit of the kiss she could. _She’d be a fool if she didn’t, after a kiss like that._

That kiss should’ve been in cinematic Technicolor with Dolby surround sound. The audience should be on their feet clapping, weeping and cheering after such an embrace like that one.

 

He looks down at her with beautiful kiss bruised lips on his gorgeous face. She wants to gasp again at the sheer bronze of his eyes that had turned now to be darker than burnt molasses. It takes her a moment to sink back down to the earths surface as he sweeps stray hairs off her cheek.

 

“I should really _go_.” He says huskily. In a way that makes her heart pang with longing. Her body snapping back with disappointment. Acting as if he told her he was just shipping off to war. Not merely taking his leave for the night.

 

She manages to gather together enough brain cells to nod. Arching into his touch, as he stroked her cheek gently.

 

“I’d give _anything_ to be in that pretty pussy of yours tonight baby. However, I got an early meeting tomorrow. Still some _stuff_ I gotta do to... get ready for it.” He smiles, voice husky as he leans in and presses a kiss upside her still-thrumming jugular. Humming in contentment as he did. She blushed seven shades of rosy pink at his filthy words. He finds it _adorable_.

 

“It’s ok. I understand. I’m actually quite envious. Being _unemployed_ and all.” She jokes with a small smile.

 

“And Thankyou for dinner...it was, _so_ , lovely.” She adds.

 

“God. You’re _so fuckin_ ’ sweet.” Ben rasps cupping her ass tighter as he grinned down at her. She squeaks when he gives her one more quick hungry kiss. He leans down into her again to grasp his jacket from behind her ankles.

 

She does that nervous hair tucking thing as his hand trails down behind her body to collect his jacket once more. Bringing it into his big fingers, their bodies part from each other. Albeit reluctantly.

 

“Goodnight baby.” He smiles sexily. After leaning in again to press a kiss to her cheek that makes her shudder. The way his voice rasps. And how his bread tickles against her skin makes _that_ annoying knot of desire flare up low in her belly once more.

 

And then he’s off. slinging his jacket off his shoulder on two hooked fingers. Bounding away down her porch steps. Off to the waiting sleek Mercedes perched on the end of her drive in the pattering rain.

 

She waves gingerly after he flashes her one last wink and ducks into the car. The headlights flash over her and her quietly dark little house. And then her exuberant, charismatic, handsome date is gone. And its just her. Again. _Alone_.

 

As came naturally to her - being alone.

 

She unlocks her door and shuffles inside. Listening to the rain spit against the windows and the roof. She admires the calm, quiet of her dark home for a second. She kicks off her mutinously painful heels, and throws her clutch onto the hallway side dresser.

 

She then leans her back against the front door. Pressing it shut as she does so. Letting her eyes scan all over. Up the stairs. Along the hall. Into her study and the kitchen.

 

For the first time in an awfully long time. Her home. Her wonderful, warm, cosy little house crammed full of memories, Knick knacks, and love -

 

She comes to realise that it isn’t a place she wants to be alone in anymore. And where in the bewildering hell has that desire sprung suddenly from?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

Silver pine. She was inside Silver pine penitentiary. She could recognise that drab hallway out of hundreds. Know the familiar foul heat of the disinfectant, burning hypochlorite bleach, in the air. She felt clammy, hot and boiling over in her own skin. That cavernous, concrete beast of a place did well to trap the heat in its bowels during the hot day. It didn’t do so well letting it out. The place was a suntrap. Warmth was slow to dissipate.

 

She steps gingerly towards the interrogation room. A well-learned route for her by now. She listens to her heels clack on the cracked lino. Heard it echo back at her down to her. Ricocheting out. Signaling her movement.

 

She comes to the door, and it’s already swung wide open for her. She cautiously steps on through. Across the threshold and she’s in. The room is brightly lit. And empty. She scans around for a second. Looking past the rows of tables, to the two way mirror at the far end.

 

She can see her reflection in it. Workwear. Hair up. Cardigan and blouse buttoned. Glasses on. Ever the ready and professional, capable writer.

 

She watches in the mirror as her reflection is joined by another. Specifically - by a tall column of orange.

 

Before she can even whip around to face him. Hands are on her. All _over_ her. Grasping one hip tight enough to bruise - even through her clothing. The other wrapped entirely its big reaching span, around her throat. Ink tattoos on his tanned hands stark against her lily white neck.

 

A hot mouth is at her throat too, and a hard, tall body is strong, firm, against her back. Like a brick wall. A brick wall built of muscle, man and fury. Wrapped up in raven-haired, tattooed, beauty

 

“Finally come to your senses have you, Kitten? Finally come to _me_?” Comes a vicious growl slithering into her ear. Tone like dripping honey. But the rasp of it was all smoke and gravel. His breath spitting heat over her ear and neck as he spoke. Dragging pimples across her fine delicate skin.

 

She’s in his hold. She can’t help it. And she _certainly can’t_ escape it.

 

She tries to choke out words. But his hand squeezes the dear life out her neck. She goes to claw at his arms. Watching him behind her in the mirrors reflection as he watches them too. Tears get pressed out the corner of her eyes. Her breath - that of it still remaining - comes out in ragged spurts.

 

She wheezes out a strained whimper when one hand of his comes out and tears at one side of her blouse. Ripping it apart as easily as if he were tearing paper. Buttons fly. Fabric shrieks - as does she try too, also. He’d ripped the cardigan from her body too. Away to the floor, kicked in the corner. And now her blouse is lying limp around her waist, exposing her bra to his eyes. Exposing her vulnerable breasts, pimpled with goose flesh and her fear.

 

He hums in low approval against her ear. She can feel the heat of his breath sink into her skin. One big inked up paw dipping under the cup and grabbing her breast in his grip. He finds her that rosy nipple and tweaks, pinches hard at the perky pebble of it, between his index and middle finger. Rolling a wave of pain and darting pleasure to make her weak knees quake, where she stood still hooked to him.

 

“You’ve been driving me up the fucking goddamn wall with these beautiful tits Kitten. It’s all I can see of _you_ when you sit across that table. And do you know how long I’ve waited to do this to you? Pinch at these pretty tits til you cry, or cum? _Or both.”_ He snaps in her ear.

 

“I’ve been waiting a _real fucking_ long time. Haven’t touched a woman in four years. Do you know what that does to a man? To be able to see, and look. But _never_ able to touch. Have you any kind of fucking idea what hell that is...” He points out. “What pain.....To be denied something you _crave_.” He drawls to her. Moving from one breast to the other. Making more tears come. More pain mingled with ecstasy. More whimpers spill from her restricted throat.

 

He’s watching her intently in the mirror. As if his very life depended on it. His head cushioned to the side of her hair. His lips still at her ear. He leans down and rubs his face, nuzzles, into the side of her neck. His nose prods into her pulse point. Feeling it go wild under his hand. Which he then withdraws. He takes a deep drag of her perfume, her hair, groaning as his hands go lower. Sliding over her hips to her drab wool skirt fastening.

 

With a growl that turns into annoyance. He doesn’t bother with the hook and eye closure, the button, _and_ the zip. He grabs material in one hand, and heartily _tugs_. When she trembles at that, he gives his reason;

 

“Waited longer than you can ever fucking know to see you naked Kitten. Don’t you dare think I’m gonna be a nice, _patient_ man about it.” He grunts. Tearing her ruined skirt down her legs. Jerking it over her knees and getting it off her.

 

This leaves her bare before him in nothing but a boring white bra. Sage green cotton panties. Sheer hold up, beige stockings. And her uninteresting, not very tall, work heels.

 

“Now, that’s more like it.” He grins at her neck. His eyes were dark pits as he drunk her in. Two black discs of obsidian as he glances over her small, pale, trembling body. Stretched before him like a poor, doomed carcass on a butchers counter.

 

When he’s done looking - he brings a hand up to his mouth and spits messily on two fingers. Before they quickly skim the length of her belly, past the hem of her panties, and plunged straight between her labia, parting her open, and diving into her slick pussy in one thrust.

 

She yelps at the unexpected sudden intrusion. And her head thuds to his shoulder. Until he yanks her chin forwards to make her watch. Punishing her with a sharp, fierce bite to the vein bulging in her throat.

 

She yelled because actually, his fingers - whilst sudden - felt awfully good plunging into her, stretching her out.

 

“ _Filthy_ Kitten. Gushing for me already. Dripping slick and I’ve barely fucking touched you. _Fuck_. I’m gonna touch you everywhere now. Now I can have you? I’m gonna pound you, pleasure you _sore_ with my fingers, my tongue, and my cock.” He pledges into her neck.

 

His thick digits twist and move inside her. Splitting out her tight walls. Getting her used to the size of his digits pressing deep. Spearing, curling into her until he hit spots that made her cunt tighten and flutter. Sucking him in deeper for more. _Greedy fucking thing. And oh, how he’d give it his all._ _  
_

_“_ Your wet, tiny, cunt is just _begging_ for me. Have to warm you up. Work you open. Or else I’ll split you in two, Kitten. And I _can’t_ have that. Not for my favourite pink little pussy.” He growls in her ear. Damn near drooling at the sight of his tattooed hand disappearing down the crotch of her innocent panties.

 

Ruining her. Debauching her and her sweet, goddamned innocence. And he was loving every second.

 

“Hold still baby. You’ll fucking _love_ this.” He assures her. Sweeping her up in his hold and over to the nearest table. He slams her ass down onto her surface and keeps her still. Clasping the shackles there, around her wrists.

 

Now _she_ couldn’t move. She was the one chained in. _Let’s see how she liked it..._

 

She’s caged into the table. _Literally_. Her knees spread wide with his hands. Her arms cuffed to the table each side. His hands spread flat by her thighs as he drinks her in again after ripping off her bra. That too consigned to shreds on the floor. He watched those pretty tits heave. Nipples hard and rosy and made to be sat on his tongue being sucked at like hard candies.

 

He made quite the picture in all his dominant, sexual rage. Cheeks flushed high with pink, eyes blown out widely black under a dark messy tangle that bore more close resemblance to a mane, than hair. Usual orange jumpsuit covers his form. But _no item_ of clothing can contain the way his fat, heavy and impossibly long cock is laying erect against his hip. Trapped in his underwear. Aching to be touched. Straining to plunge into her hot slick pussy.

 

_But not yet. He hasn’t helped himself to a taste of his kitten yet..._

 

He’s tempted to taste her off his fingers. But instead he does one better than that. He crouched to his knees and yanks her forwards to skid across the table, closer to his touch. Her knees he pins wide open, and brutally tugs at the ugly shade of green cotton til it snaps off her. Body jiggling and jolting as he undressed her roughly.

 

He eyes up the gorgeous cunt he’s now at eye level with. The slick pink lips that wept her oozing wetness, _her want,_ onto the shiny surface of the table. S _hiny pink, wet,_ _l_ _ooking like strawberries and cream to_ _taste._ _  
_

He reaches out one thumb and swipes it across her needy clit. The noise she makes for him is _delicious_.

_“_ Have you ever had this pussy properly eaten, by a real man?” He asks her. Looking up at her. His rough eyes demanding an answer.

 

She shakes her head and a weak “No.” drools out stupidly from her mouth. Her toes were curling already in anticipation. The shackles crunched when she moved. Tits jolting a little with her movement.

 

He turns his eyes southwards again. “I dreamt of this gorgeous fucking pussy Kitten. Did you know that? I dreamt of sucking your clit in my mouth... of you riding and grinding that sweet cleft down on my face til you cum and squirt all over me. There’s _nothing_ like eating a nice, juicy wet cunt.” He hums to himself.

 

“Truth be told. I’ve fucking missed doing it.” He growls. “It’s the mark of a real man; to be able to correctly pleasure a girl with your mouth til she cums.” He explains. His mind drifting as he stroked her.

 

“Are you a squirter baby? You a _messy_ girl when you cum?” He taunts. Circling her clit slowly as if he had _all_ the time in the world. “You gonna give me lots to lap up here afterwards, when I’m done?” He adds.

 

He watched a bead of her wetness drip from her waiting pussy, down onto the tabletop. He despises it when other people play with their food. So he stops being a hypocrite to that rule. And _feasts_ away...

 

He wastes no time. Stroking right into her, deep, with his tongue. Fucking her on it. Curling it. Lapping at the tasty wetness she’s giving to him. He eagerly gets up every drop. The squish and squelch of his tongue striking into her is loud and harsh as a lapping, slurping sound. He takes a swallow. Gets a good taste of her and lets it coat to the back of his tongue and all across his mouth. Does it several times with a flat, slow, lick.

 

“This pussy does not disappoint. Kitten. In fact, nothing else can _dare_ compare to this tasty cunt... to _my_ , tasty little cunt” He tells her roughly as his mouth grows restless for more. His tongue curls, he sucks her clit. Her labia. Rubs his tongue from hood of her clit all the way down and up again. No part of her left untouched or missed by his mouth. His hands shove her legs wider so he can shove his whole face right in. Getting her slick all over his top lip, and have it running down his chin, too.

 

He slurps, sucks and swirls his tongue until her little body tenses and shivers up under him. One paw of his reaches up and tugs sharply on her nipple. Feeling her tender flesh ripple as she jerks under his rough touches. It had been a while after all; and this place had beaten any of the softness he’d possessed out of him - not that he had much in the first place mind.

 

“Fucking cum on my face. Kitten. I wanna _feel_ it drip...” He warns as he feels her pussy flutter around his tongue. The tart taste of her stronger and wetter now. _Bittersweet_. Like almonds and honey.

She finally finds her head enough to groan out his name. Yelling it to echo about the room. Bouncing back to them again and again as she whimpers and cries and shudders our her orgasm for him. He is more than pleased with the steady hot stream that pulses from her pussy, and into his waiting mouth. Right onto his tongue, she cums.

 

He grins. Her cream slipping down his chin _. Because she was a messy girl_ _when she came. Just_ _how_ _he likes it... nothing on earth_ _w_ _as better than his dirty, messy girl cumming all over him_ _._ _  
_

 

Coming down from her high, she’s making noises and cries as if she’s been recently tortured. As if he’d put her on a stretching rack, or broken her ribs. When in reality he’d only done several very _dirty_ , pleasurable things instead.

 

“I like you messy. Kitten. And I just love the way your pretty cunt _squirts_ all for me.” He moans. Mouthing sharp, biting kisses up her scrunched, soft tummy. Licking up the sweat that’s gathered under the hang of her breasts. Sucking open mouthed into her sternum until he’s sure bruises will blossom their flowering way up on her skin by the time he’s done.

 

“Mmmm. You’re enjoying being my little captive? Huh baby?” He hums against a nipple. Sucking it in the scorching heat of his mouth. Playing with it. With rolling tongue and teasing teeth. Scraping. Everything pleasurable he did is mixed with an edge of pain. It somehow makes the pleasure that much _sweeter_.

_“_ Always the quiet ones. Who knew under those glasses and that hot librarian look, that my filthy little sex kitten was just _aching_ to be let free.” He smirks darkly. Biting her collarbone until she sags against him, sighing. Her stiff nipples brushing against the scratchy starch of his prison jumpsuit. Daggering into his chest.

 

She feels his free hand fidget with his zipper, tugging it open down his chest and past his crotch. He was bare underneath the jumpsuit. Nothing but tattooed skin peeks out underneath the parting, unzipped orange. His nipple rings glint in the light. He shucks his arms out his jumpsuit, let’s the sleeves drag down his diving trim waist. His big, dark inky torso full of glyphs, skulls, dark patterns and intricate designs that screamed how expensive his taste in ink was. The worth of every bit of ink on his body probably went well into the _millions_.

 

So focused on his massive body, she gasps when two thick fingers of his sink into her pussy again. _It was like going home..._

 

“Look at me.” He demands. One hand gripping her face, gripping her chin as he stretched her open with two thick digits again. Letting her feel their drag along her walls. Letting her feel every vein, every ridge of his fingers. So tight inside her, she fancies she can feel his _heartbeat_ twitching outwards from his appendages. He looks her deep in the eyes as he pushes in, and out. So slowly it actually is like _torture_.

Sweat beads on her brow and she wants to fidget and shrink away from the vulnerable way she’s laid bare, looking deep into his fathomless inky eyes. She gasps with every move he makes.

 

“You love my fingers that much. You’re gonna go crazy for my dick, Kitten. Let’s see if I can’t make a cock-hungry slut outta you, yet.”  He bets. He pulls his hand to yank her face down to see where he had that - more than - impressive _monster_ of his cock fisted in his other hand. Slowly stroking from base to tip. Squeezing and twisting his hand. A shiny film of precome drips in a droplet from his fat head. Stringing to the table that was also sheened in remnants of her messy orgasm. _Lord, he’s fucking hung._  

 

Her entire abdomen shivers at the sight of the fat, thick beast of his length in hand. He might have been right in his quip about splitting her. A cock as big as his would surely tear her open.

 

_And why is she so turned on by that awful fact?_ _W_ _hy is her body aching and whining for that girthy long_ _monster_ _of his to be to the hilt inside her?_ _  
_

Her answer comes when he grips her neck tight again and shifts one thigh open wider. He slaps the thick bulbous head of himself against her dripping wet slit, rubbing the silky velvet of his head against her - _to tease, to thrill._ To make her anticipate and clench for it. To savour the last few seconds before he gets his cock inside her and fucks her feral. Fucks her right _out_ of her sane mind.

 

“I’ve been wanting to eat your pussy for months. Baby. But I’ve been waiting to fuck you like this from the minute I saw you.” Is what he says as he slams his way into her. Going deeper and deeper inside her fluttering tight walls with each thrust. She clutched at him so goddamn tight he has to claw his free hand into her ass just to _grab_ at something close. Relieve the pleasure she’s causing as she vices his dick like this pussy was _made_ to be stretched around him.

 

He’s too much. He’s not even to the hilt yet. And he’s too much. And too much has never felt so _goddamned_ good _._ He stole her breath with each push. It felt as if each stroke pushed into her chest and slammed her lungs dry. He tilts her pelvis back with his, and brings her to the edge of the table, scooping a hand under her ass, groping the whole cheek of her in his hand and pounding her silly.

 

“ _Ohh_. Kitten. This tight cunt was worth every second I waited for it. _Hmmng_.” He groans as he circles his hips sharply. Making sure to grind up to her, catch her clit on his body to rub them together and cause the friction to drive her out her mind. Tears drip from her eyes as her finally bottoms out that fat cock to the hilt inside her. _So goddamn much._

 

His hand around her neck tightens as he flexes his fingers. “Shit. Baby. This pussy’ll be the goddamn _death_ of me. You’ve no idea...so perfect. So _mine_.” He purrs.

 

Her shackles are long enough that when he grabs her hands and tugs it to his chest, it just about reaches. Chain pulled taut. He hooks her small little fingertip in his nipple ring and gets her to pull gently. She almost frets.

 

“Won’t that _hurt?”_ She gasps out. Glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. Her milky skinned neck and cheeks flushing. Tits jolting with every thrust as he pounds into her. She feels one of her heels slip off her foot as he thrusts harder. He shifts one thigh to wrap around his hip. Smirking as he plunged deeper and hit a new angle with which to spear into her leaking pussy.

 

“It’s the _hurt_ that I like, Kitten.” He grins. She moans as he strikes a blissful spot inside her. He felt her clench down when he told her that.

 

“Kylo...” She warns as her peak comes faster upon her. He wasn’t giving her a choice. He was plucking this orgasm out of her relentlessly fast. Not giving her any room to get away from it. He is as _brutal_ in fucking as he is in every other facet of his life.

 

He grips into her throat so tight she can barely see. Barely breathe. All she can feel is pleasure radiating outwards from every pore in her body.

 

“You’re mine? You hear me Kitten? _Mine_. Not _my brother_ _’_ _s._ _N_ _ot_ that shitty ex’s of yours. You are _mine._ You belong to me. And I’ll gut, or rip limbs, and break bones of anyone else who _dares_ touch what, is, _mine_.” He growls _._ Nearly roaring his words as his orgasm approaches.

 

Using every deep plunging thrust into her to punctuate his words. Her toes are curling, body shaking and her walls are fluttering about him so tightly he grits his teeth and curses through his pleasure, snapping his hips real fast. Soaking them both in sweat as their bodies rub together. Her clit scrapes three more times against his hard body and then she simply falls apart. _Shatters_.

 

She gushed over his cock, and he spurts his heavy, hot load deep inside her. Filling her with evidence of of his _brand_. His growl of “ _Mine_.” Rolling around in her head like spilt marbles. His grin is dark, terrible. Menacing. He flashes those sharp white teeth at her in a leer. He smirked because he could feel their cum dripping from her spent cunt. 

 

His hand doesn’t stop. He fists her throat so tight, her chest hurts, her lungs burst, he chuckles and she _screams, clawing for life, for breath-_

 

Her eyes snap open and she jerks up in bed. Pulse shaking her head. Throat dry. Body drenched in clammy cooling sweat. Heart going a million miles a second. She peers across to her window as her heart races. Seeing that a branch hitting the rain smeared window was the loudness that had woken her up from her strangely vivid dream.

 

Her thighs were hot and sticky. Her lower abdomen clenching at the memory of her and Kylo’s, _session_.

When shoves the covers off, and lies back down. Her heartbeat gongs in her ears and she lets her body try and cool down. Ignoring the niggling nag of her subconscious yapping at her like a baying dog.

 

_The heart wants, what it wants._ _A_ _nd_ _hers_ _was clearly smitten with  Kylo Ren_ _._ _  
_

_~_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed me all your thirsty thoughts please people. I live off them


	12. Covet & Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one: literally no one; 
> 
> No one at all; 
> 
> No one Ever;
> 
> Me and my shitbag brain; For this chap I think we need a little reminder of how fucked up and dangerous Kylo is!!
> 
> Anyway it’s 2am. And I’m starting the next part of this here chap in which Evie goes to say goodbye to her convict. How the hell that ones gonna go I’ve no clue- might not be pretty... (btw I’m sorry if the two part update on chapters is annoying it’s just the way I get me writing done) 
> 
> TTFN xxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a rare occurrence that Kylo arrived before his visitor. But today, it was him treated to an empty interrogation room, as opposed to the poor victim coming to talk with him. He was the one now lying in wait.

 

He is shoved, carelessly as ever, into the loveless metal chair that slams hard into his back, cutting into the back of his knees. He doesn’t grunt. He doesn’t object. By now, he’s used to the brutal shoves and bruises he gains from tussles with the terse tempered guards.

 

It was a sad thing - not that he realised it. But to anyone else it would be. Being used to becoming an object that’s merely roughly handled by all those surrounding him. Familiar with unfriendly hands jerking his wrists, or shoving his shoulders. Every beat and every touch putting him in his place. Reminding him, that to them, he was seen as little more than a large violent jumpsuit filled with muscle, with a short fuse of a temper problem.

 

Blondie was coming back today - Kylo made sure of it. He’d layered the charm on real thick on their last appointment. Spoke and talked to the man as if he were his oldest, dearest friend in the world. He - gruffly - answered every question that Michaels brought up about his childhood, his college degree, his job. For fucks sake, he’d even thrown in the name of the damn dog his family had growing up.

 

Blondie ate it up like a man _starved_.

 

Kylo spoke to the man like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Only the fool was too busy bragging about his love life, and making notes on Kylo’s answers to comprehend how his dark eyes glowed with malice. And his curling smirk never left his lips. Not once. He was too thick to understand how dangerous that reaction was from a bored sociopath.

 

Blondie parted when their time was up, with his notebook bursting will filled pages. Scrawled with his notes detailing Kylo’s life. From his place of birth, his high school roll of honour, right through to his award winning career as one of the most innovative brutalist, mid century modern style of architect’s this city had _ever_ seen.

 

He’d stood up from the table, doubly brimming with vigour and pride at himself. He scoffed a dry laugh as he gathered in his things, remarking that he didn’t know what Evie had been bitching about, he’d never had such an easy time talking to a prisoner. Kylo sneers at his musing. Muttering a deep and dark “ _That so?”_ One brow arcing up. Tilting his head at the guy. Before he left the room, he’d told Kylo he’d be back the same time next week for another chat.

 

_Idiot should’ve been running for the fucking hills._

He watched his interviewer swagger away with such _ill-fated_ confidence. Kylo smiled to himself all the way back to his cell. He then discreetly put a call into Ben. Not knowing that night, he was actually tearing away his twin from a very pleasant date with a somewhat familiar bookish writer.

 

Ben had to do a double take when he heard of Kylo’s demand - it wasn’t unreasonable. Just an _unusual_ one. One that would involve some of Ben’s _shadier_ set of contacts.

 

His twin had raised a brow in disbelief - but acquiesced to Kylo’s request after he explained tersely over the phone.

 

“Can you do it?” Kylo growls lowly. “I wanna see that fucker get what he deserves.” He adds in a growl.

 

“Of course I can do it.” Ben smiles with a laugh. “You assume I can’t?” He adds.

 

“I don’t know how short your memory is Kylo. But just remember that it wasn’t just _your_ efforts that landed you in that place.” He reminds him with his usual off brand of dark humour.

 

“I remember.” His twin answers lowly.

 

_Every day he wake’s up in his shithole in a drab cell, in this rotten hell-scape, he remembers that it wasn’t just his actions that served to get him locked up._

 

“That’s _why_ you’re gonna do this favour for me.” He coerces.

_“_ At least give me a _challenge_ with the next one.” Ben leers.

 

“Do I have the pleasure of your company at my re-trial the week after next?” Kylo enquires.

 

“Unfortunately. You _don’t_.” Ben sighs for him. “But I’ll have my fingers crossed for your imminent release.”

 

Kylo scoffs. “Tuesday. Get it done for then.” He barks.

 

“Sending you my usual batch of goodbye kisses.” Ben toys lovingly, sickly sweet, before Kylo slams his phone down, then heading straight out for some yard time.

 

Once again he was off to do Kylo’s bidding. Working off the favour that would last him, most likely, a lifetime. As he had helped to doom Kylo’s life to becoming an incarcerated one. He was always hooked to owing his Twin the few and in-between favours he asked for. It was his penance, after all. Much as they liked to deny it, they _were_ family. Blood thicker than water and all that.

 

So he got it done, as he was so gruffly told to do. And today, Kylo would get to see his request pay off.

 

Blondies polished footsteps clattering along the corridor served to make him smile. He recognised the slow slap of the fuckers cheap brogues hitting the lino with every stride. He sits up straighter, shackles clinking, as he looks to the cell door, twisting his head to see his newest source of aggravation amble into view.

 

Today his latest annoyance wore a light grey suit. Tan shoes and a navy design of a Burberry jacquard tie pointing down his chest. His blonde swirling curls are in disarray and he’s tugging lightly at his tie. Trying to loosen it. His brow is dewy with a thin film of sweat. He looks breathless and his chest is falling and heaving trying to snatch some much needed air into his lungs.

 

His clammy hands struggle to latch onto his notebooks slung in his arms. His whole demeanour looks ailing and he’s stooping. His pallor ashen. Stance taken down a peg or two from last weeks confident attitude. The guard next to him swipes open the door for him to go through. Kylo watched him amble in with a veiled expression of interest.

 

He eyes him as he gets to the chair, gently easing into it. Sitting his morose frame down gingerly. Wiping his brow on his sleeve as he gets himself ready. Kylo’s eyes zero in on his throat. His pulse is erratically throbbing in his clammy neck as sweat slips down his skin.

 

Kylo watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. When Blondie looks up and nods at him, Kylo takes note of how his pupils are blown wide and glazed over.

 

“Where did we _ugh_ -“ He starts. His shivering hands unscrewing his pen lid. He drops it unexpectedly and it clatters onto the table-top. Skidding away. “Get to last week?” He asks. Trembling slightly in his suit. Rubbing a knuckle into his eyes once again.

 

Kylo fights a smile. “You feeling alright?” He asks lowly. Leaning forwards with interest as he speaks.

 

Michaels waves him off with a wafting jerk of a hand. When he puts it back down on the table, Kylo catches how he trembles still. Shaking in his own skin like a leaf trembling in the wind.

 

“It’s...” He staggers for the word. His brain shorting and spluttering. The man looks like he wants to collapse his head into his hands in despair and sink to the ground.

 

“Can you tell me a bit more about what happened on the day of the crime you were charged with? With regards to more detail of what you- _did_ to Snoke’s guys...” He rambles in a mad rush, his voice fighting for air and sound as one battled against the other.

 

Kylo sits back into his seat. Examining him with a distant look of false concern. He didn’t want blondie spooked until _he_ decided it was time.

 

He doesn’t answer his question. But he does tip his head sideways to better look at his tie. Definitely a Burberry. Probably the cheapest designer thing his measly $40k a year could get him. He’s not sure if he admires that, or loathes it.

 

Mind, he was a man who before this hideous institution, was used to living in his clean lined, five figure designer suits. Handmade shoes that cost more than his custom painted - bone black - Aston Martin DBS Superleggera. And he had more watches than days of the week to wear on his wrist. He had three Patek Phillippe wrist watches which weighed in at well over tens of millions. A Rolex Daytona. Aswell as a Breitling limited edition. And several antique Louis Moinet’s - all of them were the best of the best - the top quality that money could buy. Nothing less would do. 

 

He was a scrupulous man of very high taste. He liked his well crafted luxuries. From the hand stitched House of Testoni shoes he wore, to the car he drove. Every last detail in his mid century, two story, multi million dollar house was meticulously designed - by his very good self. Even down to the personalised, tailor made Ormonde Jayne cologne he had shipped in specially from London. A scent that took months to make. Cost six figures. And was crafted solely to him, in his engraved bottle.

 

He was a man who relished in his expensive fineries. And now look at him... clapped in shackles in this place, wearing a fucking scratchy tangerine shaded onesie, with a perverted egomaniac who could barely afford a slip of a Burberry tie, sat opposite him.

 

Kylo finds that he actually doesn’t loathe the guy for that - but it makes him _fucking cagey._

 

He learnt from Ben’s reconnaissance of Evie that novelists income did differ from year to year. However. She was a clever girl. _Kitten was sensible_. Always ensuring she kept some of her lamented relatives savings back for rent, bills and utilities each year, not frittering them away on trivialities.

 

_Unlike_ the male colleague of hers sat opposite. Who’d been in the red and maxed out his credit card limit more than several times. Had the debt collector hovering near his door mat every week clamouring for repayment. His bank account was a long list of too many drinks, at every club in the city. Too many vices to count. Prowling for cheap, shallow sex. Drink. _Drugs_.

 

“That’s a very nice tie.” Kylo offers up to blondie. Dragging his eyes up the pervs neck. And onto his stubbled jaw, ashen face. Sweat now trickling down over his brow. Beads of it inching past his widely black eyes. - almost matching the jet black look of the inmate opposite.

 

“Than-“ His interviewer goes to thank him. But he’s stopped when a streak of red slips from his nose, hot and coppery thick, landing in a crimson smudge on his shirt. Dribbling an indelible stain down him. He stems the dribbling blood with the sleeve of his suit. His arm shivering still.

 

His wheaten brows pull down. He pulls his sleeve away and looks at the rust coloured pool now soaking the cuff of his jacket. His cheeks flushed. And his pulse is still beating faster than it should be.

 

“Would’ve thought a guy who snorts to as much blow as you do, Michaels, would be up on what _toll_ that can take on your nose.” Kylo smiles.

 

He simply _loves_ the way blondies paranoid eyes look up at him like he’s suddenly sprouted another head. Pure horror etched on his face.

 

“What?” He barks quickly. Trying to laugh it off. But more blood drips. Chest rising and falling quickly in panic. Lungs ballooning out, then in. Face getting rudder, sweatier. His shivering is getting out of hand. Sleeve to his nose again. Kylo speaks up.

 

“Don’t mistake me for a brainless guy. I wasn’t the one who ate up all that bullshit I fed you last week about my life. _Blondie_.” He tells.

 

If there was a face for bewildered mixed with anger, Michaels currently wore it best. “No. No no no. Stop it. You- _you_ told me all about your high school, prom, your degree. Your childhood summers in Martha’s Vineyard on the beach. _All_ of that...” He rasps weakly. Offended.

 

“That’s someone’s life story. But it’s not _mine_.” Kylo awards him dryly.

 

“There was a guy who grew up on the same street as me. His story seemed to fit _whatever_ the fuck you were expecting to get from me.” Kylo shrugs. Big, meaty shoulder lifting up then sinking with his gesture of indifference.

 

“You goddam-“ Michaels starts. Pointing an accusing finger. His temper turning ugly. Voice raising before he seems to recall where he is, and who, he’s talking too. He pulls back.

 

Kylo isn’t riled by his rage. He merely smiles a macabre _grin_ at it. If he burst into a rampage every time someone took his name in vain. Or cursed at him. He’d fly off the handle roughly 20,000 times a day.

 

“I’d be careful with the temper. Your heart rate and blood pressure will be through the roof, right now.” Kylo predicts. Narrowing his black pits of eyes at the man. Measuring Ben’s _progress..._

 

“Your pulse is rocketing. And you’re sweating buckets. You must feel sick cause you look green. You’re paranoid, anxious, on edge. Probably side effects you’re so familiar with. As I know you take your hits of coke couple times a day...” He drawls.

 

“You’re a junkie for it. Getting fixes. Getting high. Thinking you’re the golden boy of the office. When all you _really_ are is a jumped up lackey, in a disgustingly cheap suit, and you can’t write for _shit_.” Kylo tells him.

 

“You think purely because you went to Brown, when Daddy pulled strings, and paid for you to get in, that means you’re a phenomenal writer.” Kylo tsks. Mocking him cruelly.

 

“You and your ‘fixes’ are why your credit score is shot to shit. You’ve no savings. No ISA. You blow your wages on coke, drink, and E’s. You have no hobbies. Come from a high class, divorced, very republican set of parents. Nasty drinking, pill-popping Mom. Workaholic, short fused, emotionally abusive Dad. They don’t know about your drug habits. You keep it under wraps from your folks. Your father would cut you off if he knew his only son was a junkie. That wouldn’t do for his aspiring political career, now _would it?”_ _  
_

Michaels is paralysed to his seat. Mouth gaping like a brain dead goldfish.

 

“You’ve no life. You trawl bars every night after work looking for cheap easy women to fuck. When you’re not snorting lines at your desk, in the publishing house bathroom, or on the coffee table of your shitty apartment on eighth street.” Kylo rattles off slowly. “Or off the awful, sagging tits of that married middle-aged editor from the fifth floor, when you used to hook up in the janitor closets on your lunch break.” He adds. Sprinkling salt in the wound.

 

“You get off from being a risk it all, live life on the edge, kind of a guy. Such a fucked up egomaniac, you get off from the idea of cutting lines, _right_ before you get in your car, and come and interview me, in _here_.” Kylo informs.

 

“How the _fuck_ do you know all this?” Michael’s asks in a whimper. Panicking, peering around lightly at the guards. Rubbing his clammy hands on his knees. His black eyes were darting and anxious.

 

“I have very good spies outside this place.” Kylo tells him.

 

“Look I can’t lose my fucking job over this, alright? I can’t. I _can’t_. My folks would- and, and, I’ll pay you. I can pay you big to keep quiet.”

 

“You think I don’t know you’re almost flat broke?” Kylo deadpans.

 

Michaels sniffs. Rubbing his nose. Pinching the bridge of it. His face running with sweat now.

 

“What do you want Ren? Huh? What do you want from me?” He grits out quickly. Feeling like the walls were closing in. Choking him. Squeezing the life out of him.

 

“There’s _nothing_ you have, that you could _possibly_ , tempt me, with.” Kylo says in a bored manner. Sat back in his chair like a king. _A god_. A god with a weak mortal begging at his divine feet.

 

“Well. There is _one_ thing you could offer me....” He teases. His eyes were pure venom. Michaels is so desperate he’d _kneel_ before him to beg if they weren’t encumbered by a heavy metal table.

 

When Kylo’s eyes strike into the blown green discs of blondies eyes, his heart stammers. This man was all _malice_. There was nothing redeemable, or good, or kind, in his body. Sure, he made a convincing show of being human; but all there was to him, was fury and coldness. Ice ran through his veins. Not blood. He couldn’t be bargained with. He had no pity. And there wasn’t a single ounce of leniency anywhere in his heart - if he had one at all.

 

_If indeed, the eyes were the windows to ones soul. Kylo’s soul was blacker than the ace of spades_ _._

 

“In roughly, four minutes?” He guesses. “I’ll have that _one_ thing I want from you.” He assures him. Then he swings the axe down on this miserable morons little, drugged up life.

 

“Your nose is still bleeding. Don’t you know it’s _very_ dangerous to speedball a fatal dose of coke and an unholy amount of sleeping pills...” He tells.

 

 

“That stuff can _kill_ you.” Kylo explains slowly. Face eerily calm. The start of a smirk is on his lips.

 

Michaels shakily stands, aghast, face filled with horror in looking at the murderer opposite him. He shrinks back from the chair, stepping out. But his weak legs can’t hold him and he collapses sideways almost onto the tables edge. He tries to cling on, to stop the fall - he barely manages to grapple on.

 

Kylo continues to toy with him, the way a hunter plays with their prey before devouring it whole.

 

“That really is a _nice_ tie.” He repeats. Nodding as he looks at the bloodstained blue ringing his flushed neck. Then his eyes turn to steel black. “Now go _choke_ on it.” He says softly.

 

Blondie collapses to the floor in a puddle of blood, and sweat. Shivering and whimpering. By the time the guards yell for a medic, and tear into the room. There’s nothing they can do.

 

Finch appears irate from the anteroom. Kylo probably disturbed him gawping slack-jawed at some sleazy porno mags disguised in his newspaper -  _again_. The mic was still out of order, due to the glory’s of budget cuts it hasn’t been fixed. And _nothing_ had been amiss in the security camera feed.

 

When his tubby body wobbles, storming into the room to take in the scene. His eyes blow wide with suspicion, he rakes his eyes over the people crowded and fussing around blondies soon-to-be corpse. Before looking at Ren with a blend of caution and rage.

 

“I didn’t touch him.” Kylo defends. Showing off his shackled hands. The feed too, when played back, would confirm he never so much a reached across the table. Didn’t raise a finger.

 

Now he lounges back in the chair with those confident deep dark eyes of his,  incorrectly hinting at his innocence - His masterful puppy dog eyed innocence. He sits there as calm as ever whilst Michaels heart stops beating.  

 

“How could I possibly have _killed_ a man without touching him?” Kylo asks seriously. Tilting his head at his horrified Shrink.  _Inside however, he was grinning._

_That’ll teach people to insult, and covet after_   _his kitten._ _  
_

_~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeeed meee comments or ideas - my precioussss


	13. Closure & Partings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, maybe, but no less important. I promise you that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her body felt leaden. She can’t believe her weak legs have sustained her for this far. When the whole way here it felt like they’d snap like feeble scorched matchsticks. Matter of fact, her whole body feels just _weak_. Bubbling with horrible sad grey nerves that sit like heavy tonne weights dragging down her chest.

 

It wasn’t easy for Evie to function in this world knowing she’s caused someone upset. Or to think ill of her. Never mind that someone was a man who could snap her neck like a dry twig if he so chose.

 

Today it was as if she were a paper doll that had been torched. Liable to crumple at any second. That’s how anxious she’s sure she felt and looked, stepping along the hallway that’s so familiar to her, she’s even started to see it in her dreams of late. In odes to the intimate nature of her more recent reverie about this place - and some of its more _intense_ , tattooed occupants.

 

Knows the feel of the cracked and bumpy lino underfoot as she trod along. Knows the awful scent of the muggy air and clinical bleach, pasted into the floor, that lingers and burns at the back of her nose. She’s become so used to the sounds and clamouring of Silver Pine Penitentiary by now, she wonders if she’ll miss it.

 

She’s deliberately chosen a day that Finch is off rota to be here. She has an awful sinking suspicion the man wouldn’t even let her near the interview room - let alone _into_ it to talk to her inmate associate.

 

The guard steps up to that white cell bar door in front of her and swipes it open. She gulps. Her mouth sticky. She thanks him with a wobbly nod and a smile. Stepping into the room, seeing its occupant was already inside.

 

His enormous frame dwarfs one side of their usual table. He may aswell have filled up half the air and space in the room. That hulking, orange clad body sat shoulders curled forwards to rest his inked up, trunk-like forearms on the table.

 

She’d never noticed before that he had a glyph of text running right up along the outer side of his left arm.

 

Or the way his hair caught the light. She’d always assumed it was just black. But it wasn’t. As the light shone off it, she could make out the russet tinge to the darkness. All the brown colours that tipped his waving mane. Colours of rich hickory, deep walnut, cinnamon, cedar, and burnt umber stroking through those soft locks.

 

She can see the small raised track of a bumpy scar swiped down his neck on the left side too. Rolling under the wave of a tattoo. Scent his cologne, the aura of his fragrance, lilting the air. Sweat, musky, soap and something distantly spicy like cologne. Perhaps it was the balm he patted on his cheeks after he shaved.

 

She admires for a second his side profile that she’s sure is one of the most unusual - but most striking faces she’s _ever seen_.

 

His jaw was grit tight. Cause he’s known who’d been coming down that corridor from the _second_ he heard the gentle footsteps - like a baby deers treads. Fragile and cautious. He didn’t need to know it was her, because he could smell that geranium honeysuckle perfume ebb into the room on the air she moved in.

 

Her stomach withers and curls up with dread when Kylo turns his dark head and eyes toward her in a stone cold glare. _No quips. No flirting. Stoic hate is what is sent her way today._

_“_ Hello Kylo. _”_ She splutters feebly like a little mouse.

 

She feels herself stagger back, faltering in a step when she comes on the receiving end of his hardened stare. It’s making clammy dread spike along her spine. Letting her feel the full force of his disappointment and anger.

 

She’d never seen those sable eyes look so glittering and dark. Hatred lingering in his gaze. Daggering into her like a piercing tip of a hot arrow.

 

She gingerly steps to the chair and sets the folded coat on the back of her chair.

 

Kylo doesn’t want to watch her move. Doesn’t want to react to the way her goddamned frustratingly simple - yet effective - perfume slides along his skin and strokes his jaw, caressing his big jawbone the way a lover would. He doesn’t want to. _But he does._ He watches as she puts her back to him for the barest second to ease into the seat.

 

He clenches his knuckles so hard they crack, splintering the air with the sound. She wasn’t in her usual work wear. Not today. Today she was dressed down.

 

A simple pair of indigo jeans stretched tight across her shapely little legs. Right across her ass. Under that dove grey cardigan he’s seen on her so many times, she’s wearing a wrinkled linen, lace trimmed, off white camisole - that completely _fucking winds up_ his innocence kink to see it on her. Losing his mind because of the mole he’s never noticed pocked to her pale décolletage. She also wore blush coloured ballet flats on her feet, and her hair was down. Shiny. Sleeker and shot through with more rusty red than he remembers on her chestnut brown locks. And the infamously lost locket is back in place strung around her neck, glinting silver.

 

She sets her modestly dated Kate Spade handbag to loop over the back of the chair. Setting into it with an expression pinching her face. Brows drawn into a deep set furrow. Wetting her lips and nervously wringing her hands in her lap.

 

Still he glares. Torn over his anger at her for abandoning him, and _why_ she was here now if she’d requested a transfer to another inmate. H _e_ had to admit he was curious as to why she’d come crawling back to him.

 

“I know you must be very angry at me and confused...” She starts. Eyes in her lap as she speaks, because she knows if she looks up, she’ll see that pair of brutally black irises sending his violent brand of rage at her across the silver table.

 

She dares a look - he silently does _that_ head tilt at her. The one she’s come to know as a very dangerous indication coming from him.

 

The silence on his end was making her clammy with fear.

 

His eyes narrow slightly and he tips his chin sideways.

 

“My boss gave the case to another writer. He gave yours instead to one of the most _indiscreet_ , morons in our office, and overruled my objections that you and Michaels wouldn’t be a good fit.” She explains.

 

“I’m _so very sorry_ you were put through such a, difficult transition.” She adds. “I know you don’t like people messing you around, Kylo. _Especially_ people who come to question you.” She offers.

 

“You think you know me? I think _I_ got a better grasp on what annoys me, rather than you, Winslow.” He says sternly. Snapping, baring his white teeth, biting out his words with little patience. Making it painfully evident she was his new aggravation. The newest thorn in his side.

 

_She’d been downgraded from Kitten, then._

She blinks several times. Trying to stem back the burn of tears. Just as she feared. Why ever did she think the violent sociopath she’d come to know would be understanding? _Fools errand_ or some other such mockery at her pathetic nature of vain hope, sing-songs at her cruelly in her head.

 

“I really _am_ sorry.” She bursts out quietly.

 

His jaw twitches. “ _Oh_. I feel so much better now.” He intones darkly. Throwing her apologetic comment right back in her face. His eyes colder and sharper than rough cut, black diamonds.

 

_Nothing_ she can say to this man will clear the air between them. No magic words spoken will act as a balm to Kylo’s sore temper. She lets go of her last fraying hope that she could patch up the damage her sexist idiot of a boss had caused in switching her from Kylo’s case.

 

Evie sets her lips and looks down into her lap. Biting the inside of her lower lip. Trying not to let the tears flow their bitter sharp salty track down her cheeks.

 

“I know I’m not much liked by you at this very moment. But please allow me to say that I did come to _enjoy_ our talks.” She says to him. Still fidgeting with her hands and avoiding the frost emanating from his eyes.

 

“You petrified me you know... you were utterly terrifying from the first second I sat down opposite you. You’ve never _stopped_ scaring me either. You’re big and intense, and... do you know, it was the most _unlikely_ , out of character, thing I’ve ever done. To push past my fear, and take on such a high profile man to write about as yourself. I was trying to prove myself a decent, capable writer and I _failed_ miserably.” She let’s out.

 

“I failed as a novelist to my boss. And I failed you as a decent human being.” Evie says to him with a gravely hurt tone. Managing a hair tuck behind the ear out of sheer nerves once again.

 

“Talking to you, made me want to be less _scared_. Less comfortable. So for the appointments you devoted to talk to me, I’d like to thank you. I realise it took up your time and that I _irritated_ you a great deal.” She explains.

 

“You’ve _no_ idea...” Kylo hisses lowly in reply to her irritation comment.

 

She’d _no clue_ of just exactly how much she’d irritated him. She’d worked her quiet, humble way under his skin and tormented him morning, noon and night. Driving him right out of his feral, sane mind. Pushing him to the brink of need. Need so strong in power, it felt almost like fury.

 

Fury at her for looking so irresistible. Smelling so good. Being so _fucking innocent_ and untouchable it made him daydream about sinking his teeth into her neck as she spoke - _just_ to hear her innocent screams of pleasure. He’d pleasure her to the moon and back if he could. Instead, he’s cursed to sit there in shackles and have his want, cravings for her, heaped up on him, more and more, like clutter, with each visit she granted him. Messing up his once idle mind. The need growing stronger and stronger until it tore him apart limb from limb.

 

_Ironically_ enough; she made him weak. Weak and distracted. She spoke of irritation. Yet he’s been irritated from the second he saw her. - not in _the way_ she’s thinking or speaking of, either.

 

His irritation at her is rather more born out of sheer lust and hunger. Quickly turning into a wild sort of uncomfortable rage when she betrayed him and left him. It was unimaginable agony for him to have his possessions snatched away. Without even being able to fight, for their stay.

 

The day Evie had failed to show up - that blonde, coked up, skirt chaser sat in her place instead - Kylo had never known a feeling like it. Something bubbled up like sea-foam in his chest. It was bitter. Dark and cloying. Burnt at the back of his tongue like acid.

 

When he got back to his cell that day, afterwards. The door slams behind him. And his chest swells and dips so fast his heart was strangled for air. He didn’t try and suffocate his rage. He let it _rule_ him instead.

 

He attacks the brick wall beside the door until his knuckles are a mangled, shredded mess of bone, blood and bruises. The white wall now stained garnet red. He flips over his mattress and kicks a dent to cave in the side of his bedside cabinet. All the while in his fury soaked mind is a question repeating; _Why did she leave?_

_All_ _he’d_ _done to keep her safe_ _. Strangled_ _Linetti_.  _Had_ _Michaels_ _killed_. _Had Ben watch her_ _vigilantly._ _All that and she was lost to him all the same._

He’s unfamiliar with the feeling of being powerless. He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t like how it settles. Not entirely sure it had - all he knew for certain was that Evie was gone at her own doing. And it pissed him off. It pissed him off to be weak.

 

He’d been angry, every day, for four years, nine months, and eighteen days. It wasn’t foreign to him. Angry because he wasn’t in control anymore. That barb stung deeper than anything else.

 

He looks at her now across the table, seeing her small frame huddled into her seat in her shame. Chewing her bottom lip. Looking like the nervous, shy creature he first met her as all those months ago. He’s hurt her with his coarse words - he’s certain of that.

 

She’d thought if she came in with her tail tucked between her legs in shame and apology - that he’d be a kind and gentle man. _Wrong again._ _She_ _was far too_ _hopeful._ _  
_

She pulls her eyes from her lap and meets his terse gaze.

 

“I don’t know what else there is to say...” She let’s out in a weak rasp.

 

He makes the final move. Turns his head to the guard outside the door.

 

“ _Time_. The lady’s finished with me.” He says gruffly. Looking her dead in the eye. His voice flat with boredom. His look as dead in emotion and expression as his dry tone was. _Stone cold._

 

“We’re done here.” Kylo says. Narrowing his eyes slightly at her. Her stomach feels like it drops out at her feet. Splattering to the floor and shattering into shards, like glass.

 

Hurt pangs in her heart like something burrowing into her insides. Tearing at flesh and bone to get in.

 

She shuffled to stand as the guard swings open the door and marched across for Ren to loosen his shackles and free the dark, massive beast.

 

She folds her coat into her arms. Face morosely sad. Hooks her bag up her arm. Before she turns her head to him for _one_ last time;

 

“You have your retrial in a week or two I hear?” She asks. Knowing full well by now not to expect an answer. She’d talk _at_ him instead of _to_ him.

 

He just stares again as his cuffs are attended too. Black ice in his look.

 

“Best of _luck_.” She offers. Before she ducks her head, and starts towards the door. Slowly striding away.

 

_She_ didn’t look back. And _he_ didn’t watch her leave.

 

She barely makes it to the car. Slumping into the drivers seat. Then, alone again, she finally lets her tears come freely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four days had finally boiled down to this crucial moment.

 

He’d sat through cross examinations, witnesses for both the prosecution and the defence. Testimony’s read aloud. Evidence given against the previous corrupted sort.

 

In simple terms: Kylo’s lawyers were ruthless. Able to argue a media frenzy, and pressure on the police department to make an arrest, secured him a false imprisonment due to corrupt judges and crooked police officers all tucked nicely in Snoke’s money lined pockets.

 

The DNA evidence was faulty; contaminated. _Planted_.

 

Kylo Ren had _rotted_ for four years in the hellish space that was prison. For a crime that the new evidence proved he _didn’t_ commit.

 

They argued he pleaded guilty as a byproduct of bias from the media and undue pressure for the case to be closed and an arrest to be made. And he was the perfect scapegoat for it.

 

He stood to rise in the box as the Judge started to deliver her verdict. Still in cuffs - but far more finely attired, in something other than those _fucking_ scratchy orange jumpsuits.

 

He wore his Brioni black suit and obsidian shirt. Feeling more like himself in his luxury clothes that was more like a second skin to him. The velvet lapels of the suit doing nothing to soften his hard, crude image.

 

His hands cuffed and joined at his front as he looked across the pine panelled courtroom, brimming suits, lawyers and press - His top three, least favourite kind of people.

 

“Given the new evidence presented in your favour Mr Ren. I find there to be a _shocking_ amount of illegality and police corruption staining your case, and aiding your false imprisonment...it grieves me to see such treatment to an innocent party.” the judge starts.

 

Kylo’s heart pounds. Pulse leaping in his ears. Calling him innocent was like calling a great white shark harmless - _blindingly futile._

 

“It’s gives me great honour to agree with the jury of your peers verdict of, _not_ guilty. And given what your lawyers have expressed here today, I concur with that ruling. It pains me to see the injustice you suffered at the hands of a corrupt system.” She says with a tone of _almost_ , emotion. Her face stoic, and firm. Professional and neutral.

 

He watched her slim hand close around the gavel.

 

“In the matter of the state versus Kylo Ren, this case is dismissed, your sentence is terminated. Mr. Ren. You are hereby free to _leave_.”

 

The sharp clatter of the slamming gavel cuts through the air. 

 

The guards come to escort him off the stand and free his cuffs. It takes him a moment to realise his wrists are without restraints for the first time in what feels like centuries. 

 

_He was free._

 

  

 

~

 

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell is empty. And all the devils are here...


	14. Freedoms & Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suggest getting comfy with a glass of wine (or beer or tea, I don’t judge) for this chapter and the one to follow it. 
> 
> This had been on the cards from the very first. So please do enjoy.... ;)
> 
> Btw. Omg. You guys. The comments on this are phenomenal. Please never stop! I’m blushing that you all love it so much. Lots of filthiness awaits your patient eyes. You will all be very well fed. I assure you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ben was at the prison gates when Kylo was walked out. Leaning suavely against his chauffeur driven car in his Gucci midnight ink suit trousers and his cedar coloured Prada suede Derby’s. Smoking through a pack of vogue cigarettes as he waited. His duck egg shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows in the stickiness of the afternoon muggy heat. His collar stuck to the back of his neck, and his shirt clung tacky to the wide flat of his sternum and his pecs.

 

His jaeger-lecoultre watch glinted gold in the sparkling bright sun as he lifted his hand to throw away the stub he’s smoked right down to the filter. Flicking it away to the grassy patch of sidewalk beside where he was waiting. Reclining back on the sleek merc with one hand in his pocket as he let the last drag of the cig fill his lungs with sweet sickly smoke.

 

He turned his face sunwards and let the rays of it warm his face. Catching on the Burberry sunglasses resting on his eyes. Helping soothe last night’s hangover, ex-lover, and too many glasses of very good red wine. The wine turned out better than the girl he took home for the night. That left him antsy and unfulfilled.

 

His head snaps to where the huge chain link fence was now dragging along the tarmac, a lone figure off in the distance headed with purpose towards the gate.

 

His twin he was safely able to spot from a mile off. The drab tarmac and grey of the front prison yard, amalgamated with the chowder silver of the chain link fences, and Kylo’s hulking black frame stood out like a sore thumb.

 

It had been a frigid fall day when he’d been locked up in this place - and here he was walking out on a blazing summers afternoon.

 

His thick jeans undoubtedly intended to be a fall item of clothing. As was his black pea coat, collar pointed up over his neck, paired with a raven black Tom Ford button down and his favourite worn pair of Givenchy Chelsea boots, topping his strong, long legs. Of which took _great_ pleasure in striding him away from this godawful place.

 

He clutched onto nothing in his hands. No box full of possessions. Not even a paper bag for his phone, wallet and keys. Because on pain of death was he leaving his car keys to his beloved baby anywhere Ben could lay his sticky hands on them.

 

He’d slid his things into his coat pockets and told the guard who’d served him back his belongings, to get rid of the rest. He didn’t want to keep anything he’d taken into that place. Only what he needed.

 

The guard who opened the small door out onto the front yard and the stretch onto the road, sneers a “Be good, Ren.” at him. Kylo parts with a stony glare aimed his way.

 

He walks out onto the road, hearing the gates clamp and lock in his wake. He takes his first few breaths and steps as a free man - and he can’t ever remember much else in his life ever feeling _sweeter_ than those things.

 

He clocks his Twin awaiting on him by a car parked a little way up the sidewalk. Ben smiles, another cig hanging from his grinning lips.

 

He turns and opens the car door and brings out Kylo’s welcome home present. A bottle of MacAllan rare cask, single malt whiskey. A trashy helium welcome balloon tethered to the neck with garish silver string. A cheap ‘ _welcome home_ ’ bobbing about in playful red text on the foil shape. Kylo rolls his eyes as he comes closer.

 

Ben chucks the bottle whiskey at him when he comes close enough. Kylo catches it one handed.

 

“Welcome home, Shawshank.” He smiles, smoke curling out his lips as he steps from the car. Coming face to face with his brother as the now freed convict flicks the cap off the whiskey and takes a straight sip.

 

It was a damn awful way to drink it, he’d have preferred putting it in a thin glass tumbler to let the flavours mellow and aerate - but he was _too starved_ of fine things to care. Four years without whiskey, good coffee. Four years without even a goddamn crappy bottled beer. He chugs a huge mouthful back - doesn’t hiss at the sting. He’s _missed it._

 

“Wasn’t expecting _you_ here...” Kylo grunts lowly. The start of a smile on his mouth.

 

In truth, he expected no one here to meet him. He thought the most he’d get from Ben would be a trite text to welcome him out with. Ben yanks off his shades. Looking his big brother - by two minutes - up and down.

 

“I am your pleasant surprise of the evening. Big guy.” Ben leers. Flicking away another done with cigarette. His hands go back to his pockets once more and he and Kylo just watch each other for a second.

 

Ben scoffs and makes the first move. He steps close and Kylo’s hand comes up to clasp his twins in a friendly, manly handshake when their hands clapped. They both smile a little. Ben’s grin was larger than Kylo’s of course - but Ben knew when his brother _was_ genuinely happy to see somebody.

 

Well. Happy _was_ a bit of a stretch. Not pissed off to see him would settle more accurately. And he’d be the same if he’d just been released from the hell-scape behind them. The jagged concrete beast sprawled along the vista as far as the eye could see. Kylo couldn’t _wait_ to watch it grow smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a smeared grey _spec_ on his horizon.

 

“Lets bounce?” Ben asks with a face full of disdain. “That fucking ugly place is hurting my eyes to look at.” He winces. Nodding towards Silver Pine with a grimace.

 

“ _God_ , yes.” Kylo intones as he moves around to the side door. Ben slips in the car and tells the obedient driver to haul ass.

 

Kylo eases himself into the leather bucket seat. Wanting to groan in bliss with the comfort that he’s missed. He throws the lid of the whiskey away - not caring where - and takes another long chug of it.

 

“You gonna hog that thing all night?” Ben asks with interest. Lounging back in his own seat as the car speeds off, back into the city.

 

Kylo looks sternly at his twin before he acquiesces and passes it over. _Just like old times_. When they were teenagers getting up to no good. Drinking liquor before they should and one would usually drag the other into trouble - Ben usually led the way on that front.

 

Ben takes a sip, cringing at the fiery heat that trickled down his throat undiluted. He was used to whiskey sours. Or cocktails made with it. Trust Kylo to be a man to drink straight whiskey as if it were no more than water.

 

There is an odd sort of silence in the back seat. Ben can put it down to Kylo’s uncertain, angry vibe that pulses out of him like body heat.

 

Ben decides to fill that silence - as he always does. Always had done since the day he could speak as a kid.

 

“Well. What now, Coffey?” Ben asks him. Kylo rolls his eyes.

 

Ben continues to babble. “Strip club? Dinner? What can I _treat_ you too...” He asks with his signature charming smirk.

 

Kylo stares right ahead. Watching the car drive. Feeling the world pass him by. It was going by at such an excruciatingly fast blur compared to his glacial pace these past few years. Being trapped with the same sights, scents and scenes each day grew stale after a _week_.

 

It was still sinking in that he was truly free. His case had been thrown out - his sentence terminated.

 

Tragic thing was, he was waiting to jolt awake and find himself back in that shitty orange jumpsuit on his wildly uncomfortable bunk. He almost snaps the glass bottle in his hand to shards - he’s angry. He’s _spitting rage_ with contemplating the fact that they’ve institutionalised him.

 

He needs to cut that shitty, spreading paranoia out with a sharp knife. He needs to stab it _dead_.

 

“That grill place on 87th still a Texas steakhouse?” Kylo asks. Still staring ahead. Ben shrugs.

 

“I think so.” He answers his brother.

 

Ben watched his colossal twins stern face. Sat there looking as impassive as an Easter island head. If it was him fresh out that place - he’d be hopping with excitement. Kylo seemed to be silently _fuming_.

 

“I want a shower. _My_ steam shower. Hot as it’ll go.” He tells. “A proper fucking shave with my own razor in _my_ own goddam bathroom.” He tells.

 

“Then I want a steak. Maybe _two_. And the greasiest fries, onion rings and junk on the side. I’ve been dreaming of a rare fillet of steak for four damn years.” He adds.

 

He sips more whiskey.

 

“And then I want to drink my own body weight in beer and whiskey tonight... fall asleep in my $10,000 bed and _finally_ have a decent nights rest.” He growls. Resting his head back on the seat. Shutting his eyes. Letting the taste of fine whiskey coat his gullet. His head getting _lost_ in it already. He hasn’t had so much as a strong drink in years. His body revelled in the taste.

 

“Not what I _thought_ you’d want on your release.” Ben leers, one flat brow jerking up his head.

 

Kylo glares at him. Ben would have thought instead of wanting to crawl inside a whiskey bottle now he was free, his brother would far prefer being _in_ someone else a _lot_ sweeter instead.

 

“What about Evie?” Ben asks him offhandedly _._

 

Kylo’s jaw grits. Ben watches the muscles there twitch and bunch. Teeth grinding. Face irate. Those black ink drops he had for irises looking gloomily dark.

 

“ _Fuck_ her.” Kylo dismisses tersely.

 

Ben’s brow jumps. _Definitely not_ the reaction he was expecting. He had a strong premonition his brother would have her on her back, with his hips between her thighs, within the _hour_ after his freedom.

 

“Well. We can do _that_ too.” Ben grins across at him.

 

Kylo is silent for the rest of the ride. He just drinks.

 

Ben was feeling lenient today towards his brother. He takes him home so he could have his anticipated shower and change his clothes.

 

Kylo felt more himself in a different pair of ink black suit trousers, Chelsea boots and a ash-black shirt. He kept the wool black peacoat with him too. It got chilly at night. Ben takes him to the hipster style, chain steakhouse and orders a bottle of bourbon for them both - most expensive one on the menu. And one of every side dish available to go with their 15 oz t-bone steaks.

 

The place was all warm cedar wood, decorated with vintage posters and neon beer signs. Fans spun lazily on the ceiling. The bar is well stocked - but not quite the calibre of fine wine both boys were used to drinking. It didn’t matter. The beer was cold and the whiskey strong. They didn’t need more than that.

 

The pair of them sat at the bar, shelling and munching peanuts, drinking shot after shot of bourbon and slowly devouring succulent red meat drowned in just the perfect amount of mushroom sauce. Big fat greasy onion rings, fries, shrimp cocktail and fried tomatoes smothered in garlic butter. Kylo had most of it, _and_ half of Ben’s steak.

 

His brother laughed at his twins appetite as he ate everything in sight. He tipped another shot of bourbon to his lips. Sipping it back. Watching his hulking brother wolf it all down.

 

“As mom used to say, you’ll have the pattern off the plate.” Ben remarks as Kylo spears his fork into his last morsel of steak.

 

“You try eating that disgusting slop they call food in prison.” Kylo growls. “You’d be _howling_ for a rare steak and Chateau Petrus within five minutes.” He promises. Alright so this grill house wasn’t the finest in the city. But tonight? He swore it was one of the _best_ things he’d ever eaten. With a side of ice cold beers and strong sweet whiskey - Kylo’s a man in heaven.

 

A platter of cheap, but good steak before him and a belly full of good greasy food. He hadn’t been full, or as slightly drunk, in years. _It’s bliss._

 

Ben chuckles at Kylo’s quip about the food. “I think the no sex or women would wear thin on me rather quickly...” He adds instead.

 

Kylo turns to his twin as he sinks another shot. “You? No sex? You stopped _fucking_ every man and woman that walks past since last I met you?” He asks gruffly.

 

“My flavour of the month changes now and again. As much as I enjoy a good, hard dick from time to time. Sometimes just can’t beat getting a good, old-fashioned _pussy_ fix.” Ben leers with heat in his drunken bronze eyes.

 

Kylo grunts and drinks his liquor.

 

“I’ve forgotten just what a grouchy old _bear_ you are.” Ben teases. “I’d have thought you’d be skipping out that hell mouth today.”

 

Kylo turns to him with a deadpan expression and black ice in his eyes. “I _seldom_ skip.” He snarls deeply.

 

“What’s rattled your cage? If you’ll _excuse_ the pun.” Ben smiles his big dumb smile.

 

Noticing how the cocktail waitress kept making eyes at them down the bar from where she was pouring drinks. Ben saw her _eye up_ Kylo’s inky forearms, exposes by his black rolled sleeves. She kept sneaking looks at his torso, too. His twin wasn’t stupid. He knew when a woman was checking him out. Ben’s grin twitches up on one side.

 

“ _Ohhh_ I see how it is...” Ben purrs smugly. Kylo _had indeed_ noticed the waitress eyeing him up with her deep brown ‘ _cfm_ ’ eyes.

 

But his massively proportioned twin had snubbed the girls attentions to drink his fill, to the bottom of his glass of sweet whiskey instead. The flirty waitress would get nowhere - for Kylo’s attentions and libido were _thoroughly_ engaged thinking of another woman.

 

He wasn’t saying it. But Now he’s had a few drinks and a good dinner in him - Evie is weighing on his drunk mind. Swimming prominent in his swirling thoughts.

 

He leans in and pours Kylo another shot of bourbon.

 

“You know she _didn’t_ lobby to stop seeing you, right? She never requested a transfer or any other _shit_ like that. Whatever that blonde fuck-head told you _isn’t_ _true_.” Ben tells him. Sliding the shot glass towards him.

 

Kylo turns his head in Ben’s direction as he picked up his glass. Pausing in lifting the drink to his lips. He said nothing. His face showing nothing. But Ben could see his brothers eyes glinting with calculations. Like moonlight dancing on a body of dark black water. There was something happening under the surface. Kylo’s eyes didn’t meet Ben’s. Even as he spoke.

 

“What?” He asks lowly. Forcing Ben to repeat himself.

 

“Her boss _fired_ her, Kylo. Told her she didn’t get the information required for her brief out of you. Ruined her career. Told her she wasn’t _good_ enough. Fired her on the spot, in the office, after your last meeting. Thought that dirty Machiavellian was a wiser choice.” Ben tells with venom edging his tone.

 

Continuing his mood of the evening - Kylo was silent. Absorbing the information.

 

He pours himself another shot of bourbon. The bottle was getting low by this point. By now only a scant amount of the amber nectar was left staining the bottom of the bottle. Kylo has sunk more than Ben. It barely affected him, also.

 

“I’m glad I got to watch that dipshit, _die_.” Kylo remarks to himself.

 

Though it _itches_ at him that it wasn’t by his own hand. It wasn’t him, personally, that delivered the fatal blow. He had a couple of others lingering on his kill-list too. He’d come to that another day. Tonight he was consumed with just celebrating his freedom from the hell-hole.

 

“You’re very welcome.” Ben congratulates himself. Swigging down his half finished Budweiser. _He_ was the one who’d gone to real effort, after all. Being the one who snuck into the morons apartment whilst he was out, and switching out his usual dose for the one that would go on to kill him.

 

“All that shit he spewed to you was a goddamn _lie_.” Ben tells. “Evie didn’t leave you. She was forced too - stuck her career on the line and it ended real nasty.” His twin explains.

 

_Kitten_. Kylo’s trying as he might to put her out of his head. But she keeps springing back up. Like wheat thrashing on the breeze. Kept coming back to him. Tormenting him still, enchanting him even when she was nowhere around.

 

“Where too next? Want me to buy a free man a lap dance?” Ben leers filthily.

 

The thought of some sickly sweet perfumed, glitter covered, hooker writhing in his lap made his skin _crawl_. Trashy validation from a cosmetically enhanced slut may have been Ben’s forte. But _his?_

 

_Lately his_ _o_ wn  _ran more towards meek librarians._

 

Kylo chugs down almost all of the rest of the depleting bourbon. Letting the sting of it tear at his throat. Ebbing sluggish heat into his bloodstream.

 

He fiddled with his empty glass. Ben could sense his brother’s suffocating what he really wanted. Quashing his wants, needs, deep down. Ben is unfamiliar with such a deed. When he wanted something, he _took_ it. _  
_

“Haven’t you got a boyfriend, and his cat, to slink off home too?” He asks Ben, stiffly. “Or has the shrink already started to see through all your commitment bullshit?” Kylo adds lowly.

 

“Nothing like a good dicking-down to keep my slutty little redhead quiet.” Ben grins.

 

Watching the waitress size them up again as she swayed past with a tray of beer pitchers. Making a show of swinging her hips at them. Waggling her rear end for their benefit. Ben snuck a peek. Kylo did _not_.

 

“That’s a ‘ _yes_ ’ then.” Kylo rasps as he chucks back his shot. Ben has said his newest catch was a Shrink. No way would he misread the obvious signs of a hardcore, cheating philanderer.

 

He leans forwards, chasing stray peanut shells around the bar top with his finger. He’s sour to find his mood was deteriorating. He thought steak and whiskey would fix what ails him. But it’s _still_ squirming at stomach like worms.

 

He can’t deny what he wants. It’s staring him plain in the face. Making a _fool_ out of him the longer he tries to resist it.

 

The friendly, tubby bartender sidles over and surveys both their empty plates. Giving them a polite grin he speaks to his two best paying patrons. “You all done here gentlemen?”

 

Ben nods and slides the plates across to the genial man. They are collected and whisked away along with their used shot glasses. Ben leaves a great thick wad of notes on the bar top for the bill.

 

“You boy’s have yourselves a great night, now. Any plans _at all?”_ The barkeep enquires kindly. It was a slow night. He was fairly busy, several tables were filled. But the bar was emptying by now. It was drawing close to eleven. He was just a nice man making conversation.

 

Kylo looks at him for a long moment.

 

“ _Yes_. Matter of fact. We do.” Kylo answers quickly and stiffly. He downs the bourbon. Grabs his coat, hooking it off his chair. And marching off towards the door.

 

The barkeep’s words snapped something deep within Kylo. _Broke a dam._ He knew deep down where he wanted to go. Why was he denying himself this base pleasure? She’d reciprocated his feelings. His lust had found symmetry in hers. And now he knew the truth? There was _literally_ nothing whatsoever standing in his way.

 

Ben thanks the man. And follows quickly after his striding, terse twin. He comes to the door and slips out of it, following Kylo’s irate wake.

 

Ben takes a chance to slip a cig between his lips from his pocket. Coming out in the cold purple black evening. Night air rushed muggy hot along the sidewalk. And the sky is strung with clusters of white stars. Tacked into the sky like lace netting.

 

Ben lights his cigarette as Kylo strides for the car. “Where we headed?” Ben asks suavely. Coming into step behind his twin.

 

Kyko answers him. Ben grins through curls of smoke ripping out his lips.

 

“For _dessert_.” Kylo tells him darkly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie had a miserable night in to herself. She usually was jovial of an evening. Finding something to do. But tonight? She finds pleasure in _nothing_.

 

She doesn’t want to weed her garden. She doesn’t want to take to her kitchen and try out a new casserole recipe. She finds she wants to _wallow_.

 

She curls herself up in the quilt bedspread that her Granny embroidered her, for her eighteenth birthday. The one stitched with tulips, roses and spreading vines. Stitched in thick seams of various shades of blues, pinks and greens. The other side is candy pink stripe. She cocoons in her nest. After having a hot bath and throwing on her dressing gown, and blue linen vest and short pyjamas that were ratty, but comfy.

 

_Who did she have to dress up for anyway?_ _  
_

Thirty years from now she’d still be sat as a lonely spinster, comfy in her uniquely body-shaped groove on this _very_ sofa. Doing _exactly_ this. Only instead with a drastically changed fashion sense on her scragglier, elderly body - some pearls and a cardigan maybe - and with some partially incomplete knitting at her feet, awaiting her attention. Whilst jeopardy blares through her telly for her hard of hearing ears.

 

When she finally passed on from this world - after noticing she hadn’t been seen for weeks. Someone would come and find her decayed skeleton, still, hunched on _this bloody_ couch _._

 

She lets her cherished blanket curl, forming around her shoulders as she huddles up on her in her chilly room, on her cold couch. It may have been muggy outside, but the warmth hadn’t reached her yet. She sticks something sappy on TV, a Richard Curtis movie of all things, and drowns her pathetic sorrows in red wine. Snivelling her tears away when they came.

 

She hardly bothered with putting lights on. The entire house was dark to match her mood. She lit two small jasmine scented candles, tiny ones in jars on her coffee table. They flicker and flutter as she curls up in her nest of misery.

 

Maybe she’d try her hand at online dating? One thing the attention from Kylo has forced her to realise was that she was so sick of feeling lonely. And it was either date, or get a dog. And she quite fancied having something, someone, that had a chance to outlive her. She’d heard some disastrous urban horror stories about blind dates from online.

 

Older men posing as younger men. People exaggerating their job, or lying about their prospects or looks. She doesn’t relish the prospect of another turbulent journey in her life.

 

But after all, as he was now currently unemployed she had _plenty_ of time to cruise for a new candidate, who had the potential to become the newfound love of her life.

 

Love-match.com luckily had a section for unemployed singles. Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that, she tries to perk herself up cheerily- it _sadly_ doesn’t pass muster.

 

She takes another big gulp of wine instead. Well on her way to a second glass by this point. Hugh Grant has just fallen helplessly in love with a pretty American, when there comes a rattling, persistent knock at her front door.

 

She frowns. She sits up, struggling for the remote she shuts the telly off. Blinking in the absence of the light it cast across the room. She listens, hearing the sounds of trees outside, knocking branches and leaves in the wind. Again it comes. A rapping knock.

 

She swallows nervous. Only _one person_ she could think of would be at her door _this_ late at night. Her mood souring instantly. _Must be jimmy back to try and woo her into bed..._

 

She snatches herself into a stand, annoyed at her evening being disturbed by a man she really didn’t have the energy _or_  patience to deal with. She pads barefoot out into her dark hall, and crosses the cold rugs on the hardwood floor. Cushioning her treads as she comes to the front door.

 

She doesn’t peer out the net curtain. It was on the chain. She unlocks it and opens it a tiny slither, and speaks into the gap.

 

“Jimmy. Take a hint. I _don’t_ want to deal with you right now, or ever _in fact-“_ Her words halt.

 

Her mouth falls open, and she blinks fantastically shocked, at the sight of Ben Solo leering at her from the other side of the door.

 

“Ben?” She exclaims. He _loves_ the way his mere presence made her cheeks flush a little.

 

“What are you doing _here?”_ She asks. Tucking hair behind her ear as she speaks. After their date she’d heard nothing from him. She was beginning to suspect he had better offers taking up his time.

 

Prettier women. More confident women. More interesting women.

 

He was leaning with one arm braced straight on the doorframe. The other folded behind his back. He brings his other arm around. She can see two bottles of vintage Dom Pérignon clutched in one hand. Offered up to her view. Racing green bottles, sleekly emblazoned with a gold band of a label. _Expensive_.

 

With Ben she’s come to learn that expensive is his preferred style.

 

“Looking for a gorgeous drinking buddy...” He smiles. “Care to _indulge_ me?” He seeks.

 

His grin charming and persuasive. His eyes like pools of salted warm caramel as he eyed up her fluffy towel dressing gown through the gap in the door. _That thing would have to go for a start._

 

His brow is dewy, she notices, bronzed eyes dark under the brim of his messy hair. He smelled like spicy sweet whiskey, and his juniper cologne.

 

She fidgets for a moment. There was every possibility he just wanted to get into her bed. That makes her heart hurt a little. Then again, gorgeous guys didn’t come milling around her way very often. _Carpe Diem_ and all that bother...

 

_What was a nightcap drink between friends after all?_

 

She smiles meekly. “Of course.” She shuts the door and unlatched the chain.

 

She re-opens her door, widening it for him and his big frame to come in. “Come on in...” she tells.

 

Feeling a tad insecure she was in her ridiculous fluffy gown that she certainly hoped he didn’t commit to memory, the sight of her in the big, slouchy old thing. She certainly hadn’t been expecting handsome company. But if she went and changed now; her insecurity would stick out like a sore thumb. She was doomed to remain as she was - compare to the women he was used too, he probably now thinks her frumpy, boring and sensible. As per usual.

 

She steps back from the door. He sways inside and shuts it behind with a kick of his polished shoe. She stands facing him. Opening her mouth to offer him some glasses, but is swiftly _silenced_.

 

Ben stalks _right_ up to her, snatches a hand into the back of her hair and gives her a kiss. The force of which makes her stumble back, squeaking onto his soft lips as he corners her into the rail by the bottom of the stairs. Her back pressing into the wood. Her arms flail and her legs go weak. _Numb._

 

The arm holding the champagne goes round her back. Herding her into his hard, hot body. Forcing her lithe form up into his wide chest.

 

His stubbled beard scratches hard onto her skin. His tongue all but shoves down her throat. He licks her up. Groans at her taste. It’s filthy. But it’s _good_. Her cheeks blush furiously pink, and she barely knows to clutch onto him. Still shocked from his sudden, vicious passionate attack.

 

After he pulls all the air out of her needy weak lungs, he parts from her lips and his hand slips down her back, cupping her ass through the thick towel of her gown. Rubbing his entire body against her own as he caresses her ass with a hand that easily dwarfs the size of her ample bottom.

 

She tries to stutter his name as his mouth swerves to suck at her neck. Nudging her head to tilt out of his way. Letting his tache scrape there, rasping against her tender skin.

 

“B-Ben... Ben-wait...” She whines through a moan. Bringing her hands up to his shirt clad shoulders. His teeth nibble her neck before he pulls away. He _feels_  under his tongue, how that makes her shiver.

 

“You always smell _so_ _d_ _amn good_ baby...” He husks into her collarbone. His lashes shutter and tickle her skin.

 

She swallows and steps back from being huddled up against the stairs. Stepping back into the open space of the corridor to the living room. The darkened hall and the back door stood directly behind her.

 

“What are- we...” She sighs. “Can I ask what _is_ this, here, with us? _”_ _S_ he seeks.

 

His answer confuses her beyond belief.

 

With kiss bruised lips, he smirks. Sizing her up like a hungry wolf who’s just cornered a lamb. His eyes are so dark, they look like dull bronze coins.

 

He looks over her shoulder... She furrows her brow. His answer chills her blood.

 

“A _distraction_.” Ben awards her. Arching his left hip to lean into her banister. Left elbow bent dangling off there. Making himself _right_ at home.

 

She hears the creak of a floorboard behind her far too late. Ben smiles wider. _Darker_.

She lets out a distressed yelp when a big body smashes into her own from behind. Her back arches and her arms flail. An arm secured thick and bulging, encircling her waist. Her hands press to the limb. She feels a thick wool coat under her clawing hands.

 

Cologne rolls over her. Vetiver. Orange Spice. Followed by a dark musk. Rich, opulent. Dark cedar and pepper.

 

She struggled because now a _knife_ was cold and pricking against the front of her throat. A massive, strong, tattooed hand held it there. Letting the sting of its sharpness press, but not drawing blood. _Yet_.

 

A hot mouth is fanning breath, muggy at her ear. She can _hear_ his smirk. It brings tears to her eyes and dread to curl, shredding at her every nerve.

 

“Hi _Kitten_.” Comes a crooning, dark purr. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long to go now... the fuckening be upon us
> 
> Come on. Feed me those frustrations I know there must be some


	15. Dark & Menacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..... and here it is. It’s lonnnnng. And filled to the brim with dirty dark things. It would be quicker to list the warnings that, aren’t, in this
> 
> Now I know it’s not “everything” in this here chap. But I needed to split it all up- otherwise it would have been colossally long. Working on the next part to come (pun intended) as we speak; and yes that does feature an ungodly amount of dark unholy fucking...
> 
> Thankyou for baring with me precious ones. Your comments are my lifesblood. ❤️

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was safe to say - however scared Evie had been in her interviews with Kylo. She needed a _whole new_ scale of terror for her current situation.

 

Here he was. Free. _Untamed_. His temper unrestrained. His body unshackled. _He was free to run wild._

She makes a very un-funny quip to herself in her head that they’d be finding her decaying body a lot sooner than she’d reckoned. She foolishly thought she had several decades left on this earth; but it appears she didn’t count on what can occur when she pisses off a _very_ violent sociopath.

 

Her body shivers and wants to curl in on itself, but the big man behind her won’t let her. She gulps and whimpers when she feels her throat bob under the cool press of the knifes edge - that was her current predicament down to a tee. On a knifes edge.

 

Her chest heaves when she feels him nuzzle into her neck, his breath scorching her clammy skin, he grumbles low in the back of his throat in appreciation. She shuts her eyes and lets a full body shiver wrack through her.

 

“I forgot how fucking _soft_ your skin is, Kitten.” He husks, she feels his lips and the sharpness of his teeth as he spoke. Some of his long raven hair trapped between her cheek and his.

 

His voice so deep and dark it plunged into her skin. Humming into her. He smiles as he noses into her hair takes an inhale of the scent that driven him insane for all those months.

 

“I think you’re _scaring_ the poor girl. Ky.” Ben smiles from his position, vertically reclining on the stair banister, opposite. Smiling at the two of them.

 

“Am I scaring you baby? The knife scaring you?” Kylo asks her. Crooning at her playfully.

 

“I’m _more_ scared by the man whose holding it there.” She gets out. Her voice a pathetic whimper of its usual self. Kylo chuckles. She feels it rumble against her throat.

 

“Clever girl.” Ben tutts in approval. She flinches a little at the sound of him uncorking one of the bottles of Dom. Squeezing the cork out, letting it clatter away in the hallway. She peels her eyes open and watches him sip at the tangy white froth that spurts from the neck of the bottle. Tipping it right back and having a swig of the sparkling fizz. _Enjoying the show. The spectacle of her fear._

_“_ We gonna get on with this or what Kylo?” Ben asks.

 

Eyes slipping from her feet to her hips, up to her chest. Licking his lips free from drops of _ludicrously_ expensive champagne. Ones that dropped into his dark tache.

 

_Though he’d much rather be licking her cum off his beard instead._

Panic bubbles up, hysteria simmers to boiling point in her blood. Crushing her chest. _“Oh_ god. Oh _god-Please_ don’t hurt me.” She begs.

 

“I’m not on the story anymore! I was taken off it I _swear_. I told Ben. I was fired. I’m not on the story. I won’t write anything. I _swear! Please_... _Kylo_ , please.” She’s babbling. Awfully close to sobbing.

 

She tries appealing to him in whatever way she can. Calls him by his name. Hoping the rapport - of sorts - they built might be measure enough to keep her from being killed.

 

She twists her head trying to look at her big, dark captor. But she only gets so far as to tilt her head back, hitting his massive meaty shoulder. Feeling his lips move by her temple. Soft, pliable lips. His breath gently kissed with the scent of whiskey.

 

“ _Easy_ , baby...” He coos to her darkly. She can feel his big hands travel down her waist. Feeling the shape of her hip through her gown.

 

“Adorable as this thing is...” He husks. “I need it _out_ of my way for the fun part” He tells. Speaking in a hush into her throat.

 

His free hand works at the towelling knot around her waist. He tugs it with little patience. Her hips jerk forwards when he pulls on the ties to make them fall open. When it is, he brings his fingers up and drags it slowly down her shoulders. Gauging her reaction. The slow rush of it brushing off her skin is like an endless caress. Her body thrums with sparking lust fizzing at her nerves.

 

It sags in a useless heap to the back of her ankles. She hears and feels it fall. Pinned under both their gazes as they both roam over her newly exposed body. Her arms feel like awkward lead weights dangling from her shoulders.

 

“ _Fucking_ beautiful.” Ben growls lowly, swigging back more champagne. He was growing more drunk off thoughts of her than he was off the very fine champagne he had to hand. His greedy eyes lustfully raking up and down her body. Fixated on the _sweet_ camisole set she wore - he wanted to tear it to _shreds_.

 

Kylo feels the same way - if she wore this goddamn innocent set of pyjamas to bed; it wouldn’t remain _on her_ body for long. He’d slide it down her legs and tear the vest open with both sides. Ripping it away.

 

Her eyes close. Breath shaky. Chest heaving. Goosebumps prickle her exposed skin. _She didn’t know if she was aroused or terrified._

 

Kylo exhales next to her ear. Wetting his lips. “Much better.” He hums. His bare hand now skims up her thigh. Cupping at the round of her thigh. Silky hot skin under his hand. Teasing gently under the hem of her lace trimmed shorts. She bites her lip. Not quite understanding what feelings he’s making coarse through her veins.

 

“Did you ever _think_ about me, I wonder?” Kylo asks absentmindedly. Letting his toughened hands rasp against her goosebumped skin.

 

“You sat opposite me for two months, baby. You must’ve started, _wondering_...” He smiles.

 

“I-“ Her own words choke her.

 

“Don’t be _shy_. Tell me...” Kylo demands. She winces when the knife relocates to the V neckline of her top. “And if you fancy lying to me, Kitten...well, in _that case_...” He leaves open as a threat.

 

She understands why when the tip of the knife pressed down hard on where the top is suspended over her breasts. The edge of it beginning to tear her top open. Splitting it in two.

 

She pants harder in panic. “Ok-ok. I ugh. I- I thought once, or twice, maybe, ab-about your hands.” She let’s out.

 

The knife stills.

 

“What _about_ my hands?” He presses. His face pressing down into the crook her her neck. Her eyes flutter shut. She just felt him and his body against her. It was _almost_ as if it were a private moment between the two of them.

 

She tries to be braver than she felt. “I thought about- what your hands would feel like, touching... me. How they’d _feel_ against my skin.” She let’s out truthfully.

 

“Like this?” Kylo asks. Letting his free hand cup her hip.

 

She doesn’t answer, but the way her breathing hitches is enough of an answer for him.

 

“Or, like _this?_ ” He asks. His big hand reaching down and cupping her pussy through her clothes.

 

The completely needy moan that sails out her mouth betrays her.

 

Kylo plunges his hand sharply down. Shredding the top down to her ribs. She yelps in distress.

 

“You _lied_ to me.” He growls. Displeased. But at the same time, he was _ecstatic_ that she’d thought about what his brute big fingers would feel like in her tight little cunt. She’d tried to make light of that dirty fact. His smile is deceptive.

 

_His fingers would stretch her tiny tightness open like no man’s hand ever had before._

“I _did_ think about-“ She trails off.

 

“Finish that _dirty_ thought for me, baby.” He commands roughly.

 

“I thought....about _kissing_ you.” She admits quietly. “About what it would be like to...” She can’t even _say_ the words. She averts her eyes floor-wards.

 

“I have no qualms about taking you over my _knee_ to make you talk.” He points out. He’d spank her cute ass sore to get words out of her if he had too. He’d spank her for the sheer pleasure of it alone, too.

 

“I thought about what you’d look like with no clothes on. I-I wanted to see, _all_ , of you.” She admits. Her cheeks are hot pink by now. She’s sure of it.

 

She’d thought about the hulking heft that was Kylo’s body, _too many_ times to count. Thought about exploring those tattooed muscles. His arms, legs, torso, and inky shoulder blades with the tips of her fingers. Wondered if his skin was tough, or smooth. If he was hairy or sleeker on his chest. If he was as _divine_ in beauty when naked, as he was with clothes on. She had a feeling her canny brain already knew the answer to _that_ one...

 

“Well here _I am,_ Kitten. Don’t you wanna find out? You must be _curious_ by now...” Kylo asks.

 

Her mouth gapes. And no words come to her aid.

 

“I can _feel_ you shivering...” He husks breathily into her ear.

 

Ben grins. Thunking the champagne down on her side table. Stepping closer. He comes right up. Flush to her body. Close enough that she can feel his shirt wrinkle and brush against her. He smiles and playfully runs a fingertip to hook into the now ruined neckline, running his fingers down from her shoulder to her sternum. Dancing across her sensitive skin.

 

She was helplessly sandwiched between two giant, hulking men.

 

“You said you wanted to get close to a _killer_ , babydoll.” He smiles. “Here’s your chance.” He explains.

 

“How were you to know you were actually getting close to _two_.” Ben adds in a grin.

 

She goes stock still. Her watery blue eyes glancing scared, up to Ben.

 

“You, aswell?” She asks in a breathy gasp. Her chest ragged. _She’d gone on a date with a murderer. Kissed him goodnight too. Shared a pudding_ _with_ _him_ _. L_ _usted after him, a bit._

Ben half heartedly shrugs. “Never killed anyone the way Kylo has. But I’ve certainly done several _very_ naughty things.” He winks at her.

 

Ben tilts his head, crooking it lightly, as he lifts a stray tendril of hair off her face.

 

Kylo jabs the knife at her throat in deeper. Reminding her that he was there - not that she was in danger of _ever_ forgetting. Her body went weak whether he came near. It _knew_ what all that big bad man in his entirety, was capable of doing.

 

“I meant what I said, Evie. When I said you don’t know what you _do_ to me.” Kylo begins.

 

“Did you know what you did, coming to see to _me_ in prison? You drove me _crazy_...” He growls lowly at her. His voice harsh and angered.

 

“ _Ditto_...” Ben smirks. Those cotton blue panties of hers he pocketed had lost her scent now. And it was making him anxious for another taste. _Sharpish_.

 

“I never meant to upset you. _Either_ of you. I followed _every_ rule. I didn’t think I did anything wrong...” She sighs weakly.

 

Kylo’s teeth graze her neck as he smiles, and laughs. She trembles like a leaf.

 

“Not _that_ kind of crazy, kitten...” He tells. Bringing one hand over her stomach. Big paw covering it easily, he pulls her hips back and lets her feel the entire enormity of his hard cock pressing through his trousers, nudging forwards into her body.

 

“I- _oh._ My god.” She gasps. Wanting to clasp a hand over her mouth. _He was a monster._ Her lips felt dry and chapped _._

_He was endowed like a god, there was no mistaking it._

_“_ That’s _all_ you...” He smiles, his tongue tipping out to teasingly trace the shell of her ear.

 

“I can’t count how many nights I stroked myself off, cumming over my lap and thinking instead of fucking the goddamn living _hell_ right outta you.” Kylo’s snarling into her ear.

 

Ben’s fingers gently stroke over her cheek. His thumb feeling over her blushing skin.

 

“Would you like that Evie?” He asks. “Me and my brother _both_ pleasuring you, fucking you senseless, licking out your pussy until you squirt so hard, you can’t walk.” He leers. Her brain short fused.

 

“You? _Both,_ want to _-?”_ She trails off. Gulping again. She’s pretty certain she’s going to black out in a moment. They both grin at her shyness.

 

Kylo fidgets with something behind her for a second, before he grabs her by the wrist, fingers wrapping around, and tugging her hand behind her to front of his trousers. Her thighs shiver and nearly pile her body to the floor in a boneless heap as he guides her hand inside his trousers, and into his underwear, holding her hand there, cupping the long, fat length of him.

 

Scorching hot velvet skin wrapped around his rock hard cock. He was smooth, and heavy in her hand. She could only just get her tiny little fingers to meet around his engorged size.

 

“ _That’s_ what you do to me.” Kylo tells. “You make me so damn hard and horny I can’t think straight. I’ll have a clearer head after tonight Kitten. Cause I will have fucked you _raw,_ in every position your little body can take. And I won’t be stopping until I can’t hold out for one single more thrust. Show you what happens when men like _us_ are devoted to making you _cum_.” He leers.

 

He growls into her ear. “Do you think you could take me baby? Take me to _the hilt_ in that tight pussy of yours?” He snarls. Not letting her hand retreat. Shifting her wrist. Showing her how to rub up and down on him. Gripping just enough. He grits his teeth, baring them when she shifts her fist up over the wide of his head. Feeling oozing precome coat slick to her palm. His brows furrow in pleasure.

 

He closes his eyes for a second. _Fuck_. He hadn’t had a woman’s touch in _years_. He’s emphatically overwhelmed by the sheer fact that it’s someone _else’s_ hand stroking him rather than his own. The fact it was his kitten? _Oh so fucking hot._ Showing his shy girl how to pleasure him. His hips struggled not to fuck up into the grip of her fist - heaven wasn’t the steak and whiskey dinner he had earlier. Heaven was _now. It was this._

He groans, unabashed. She fights to clench her thighs together. Her arousal sweeps through her unhindered now. It’s choking the life out of her. Kylo’s had months of waiting. And now he’d had a taste of what she could do to him; he wants _more._

_So close to being able to enjoy her hot little pussy. He wouldn’t wait any longer._

_“_ Keep the _fuck_ still.” Kylo warns. She does so. But she does squeal a little when he slams the knife down her front. Severing her top in two. He tears that away. The sound of shrieking, tearing fabric filling the air along with her screams.

 

Kylo looks down, towering over her to finally take in the sight of her tits. He’d been right; her nipples were the most rosy orange pink he’d ever seen. Like two pebbled peach candies he wants melting on his tongue. He’s willing to bet she tastes twice as sweet as peaches too.

 

He wants to spend an hour purely on those nipples. Sucking, nuzzling, biting and working her up into a frenzy as he fucks her with two fingers until she squirts right _up_ his wrist.

 

He’s feeling playful. He brings the tip of his engraved, Farrer & Tanner folding knife to stroke along her collarbone. Leaving a slight red line in its wake. He wants to wake up next to her tomorrow, and _see_ the slight marks his weapon made on her. Like lines of a well travelled map. He hears and feels her breath hitch and it makes his cock jolt stiffer - if that was even possible. He was fit to _burst_ already. Achingly hard.

 

He drags the knife down her sternum, lets it hop over every rib. Skimming past all the little moles that pocked her chest. He traces each round of her breasts with it slightly too. Teasing. The cool of the metal, and the threat of its bite makes her nipples tighten harder. He watches her react to it. Feels her lust start to come forward. Making itself known.

 

She can’t deny that the danger of this situation is making her pant with what she recognised as a _bit more_ than fear. She can’t understand it. This was dark and twisted and wrong. But she knows it’s happening. And it’s making her shiver with need for one of these men. Or _both_.

 

She doesn’t know _how_ she’ll survive this night. Not fully certain Kylo won’t slit her throat after he’s done with her.

 

Ben bites his lip, snapping into action too. Crouching. Sticking his thumbs to stroke over her hipbones, before catching in her shorts and yanking them down her shapely legs. Hearing the gentle rasp of the linen against her skin as he whips the things down to her feet.

 

He smiles at the pretty white, scalloped edged, panties covering her sweet cleft. Stitched with _fucking_ adorable pink roses. _Fuck_ , if her innocent, safe little style wasn’t the sexiest thing on earth he’s ever seen - then he didn’t deserve to have eyes. He was at eye-level to her cunt. And there was _nowhere_ else he’d rather be. He wets his lips, his hands stroke upside her thighs, feeling her excitement making the fleshy things quiver.

He peeks up at her. She notices the bronzed warm hickory that stains his irises, now is almost as black as Kylo’s ink hued eyes.

 

She retreats back into Kylo’s body out of sheer instinct when, whilst looking her deep in the eyes, Ben noses into the space between her legs, his wide, flat tongue lapping over the top of her panties. Nudging into the bump of her petal soft lips under the fabric of the crotch. He could smell the scent of her that gets his mouth watering.

 

Cotton scented washing powder. Salty clean Soap. Lavender body lotion. Pure tang of her aroused cunt soaking her panties right through. His eyes roll back in his head in bliss.

 

She groans.

 

Kylo’s hand grips tighter to her wrist, her hand still cupping his cock. He tightens his grasp when he hears her moan because of Ben.

 

Kylo grits his teeth. “I’ve waited months for her. I get her first. You can watch, until _I_ say otherwise.” He orders.

 

Evie’s left shivering, wedged half naked between their broad hot bodies, in nothing but her knickers as they practically fight a tug of war over her. Like two dogs fighting over the same bone.

 

“He’s very protective of you, _baby_. I’ll have to watch out what I _do_ to you.” Ben winks up at her. “Trust me when I say I won’t do anything that doesn’t make you have several, _screaming_ loud orgasms.” He pledges. “Cause what he doesn’t want to admit is that you’re a little bit _mine_ too. And I _always_ enjoy making my girls cum.” Ben smiles

 

His sneaky tongue then snuck under the hem of her panties and rubbed along one side of her labia, curling at it with his tongue. Getting her exquisite wetness on his palate. Coating the tip of his tongue in her pussy slick. She shivers out a whimper.

 

“What’s the matter Ben? I thought you _enjoyed_ being a voyeur...” Kylo grunts. Nibbling the lobe of her ear. Still having her small hand jerking his cock with shy little movements.

 

“Then make good on your promise, and stop _playing_ with your food.” Ben husks up to him teasingly.

 

His twins jaw twitches when he clenches it to grit tight. His teeth clacking together. Evie whimpers as he bites down a little _too hard_ on her ear. Kylo narrows his eyes.

 

And does _just_ as suggested.

 

Kylo takes the knife away and hooks it over the fabric of her panties by her hips. He pushes the edge outward, and pushes until the scalloped material breaks away with a snap. He does it each side, and lets the pathetic scrap of soaked underwear fall away to the floor, at Ben’s feet.

 

She barely has time to be insecure over the fact she’s stood stark bollock naked in her dark hallway. About to cover her freed breasts with one arm. When Kylo jerks her around, tears her arm away, before one big paw grabs, sinking, her the globe of her bare ass and heaves her up in his arms. Carrying her roughly as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour.

 

There was that brute strength of his, put to action.

 

Her hands clutch onto the thick wool of his dark coat. He walks them down the hall a way, into her study, and all but _throws_ her onto the big couch in there. She jolts as she bounces back into it. Facing him.

 

For the first time tonight, she’s getting her glimpse of Kylo as a freed beast. He’s stood true to his nature as a tall, dark tower of a man. Hair wild. Eyes set to piercing-glare. His big chest rises and falls, and down the front of his undone trousers is his obscenely big erection pasted to and up his hip in his briefs. Where his shirt neckline is unbuttoned low, she can see a sheen of sweat on his chest. Dewing his tatted black skin.

 

His black shirt is tight, and she can see every ridge and edge of him. All that hard muscle, strength and rage that’s shaped him to be so crudely stacked with muscle. He quickly sheds his coat and throws it haphazardly over the chair in the far corner. The knife chucked atop it. Leaving him in an ink black button down and charcoal jeans.

 

She registers Ben watching, drinking champagne, again, from the arched doorway behind him. But she can only focus on Kylo, now.

 

Her eyes widen in panic when he opens his sable coloured belt, and slips it free from every loop with a slow _swish_ of the leather as it left.

 

He chuckles, looping it in hand - before dropping it to the floor beside him. He raised a brow at her. She exhales a sigh of relief.

 

“I’d give a penny for those kinky thoughts, Kitten.” He says. “Did you think I’d be using that, on you?” He wonders.

 

Her sheepish averting of her eyes gives his answer. She drops her eyes to his chest.

 

He steps close and brings one finger under her chin. Crooking it upwards to make her pretty face gaze up at him. She sat with her hands clasped to her lap. Trying not to crawl and hide her nakedness under the nearest blanket for fear of the punishment he’d dole out, for her covering up what he’d waited so patiently to see.

 

He watches her pretty blue eyes, dilated with want, admires her cheekbones and the flush of pink sat high on them. Thinks about the memory he had of how her soft lips taste.

 

“Do you _want_ me to use it? Cause I will. If you’re very bad... or maybe if you’re very good. Seeings as you seem _so wary_ of it.” He smiles.

 

She swallows. Opening her mouth to answer. He cuts her off, his thumb stroking over the corner of her mouth.

 

“Maybe later I’ll bind your hands to the headboard with it. Eat your pussy after I’ve made a creampie of it. Eat my cum outta you for hours and watch you writhe and buck like a _wild_ bronco for me, all tied up.” He thinks to himself. Tucking a straying hair sweetly behind her ear. His touch on her cheek made her shut her eyes in bliss.

_His dirty mouth would be the sinful end of her._

 

When she hears him crouch in front of her, She opens them. Seeing now he was digging his hands into her kneecaps and inserting himself between her legs. Coming closer, parting her thighs until he can slot between them. His torso almost touching hers.

 

“You _want_ me, don’t you, Kitten?” He reaffirms.

 

She finds the strength to nod. “Yes. I do.” She whispers. Unable to believe her weak brain could manage _that_ much.

 

His eyes zip to her lips. “You ever thought about kissing me, again?” He asks. Flirting. He thought about that day in the interrogation room _so_ often, the memory was worn thin.

 

“All the time...” She sighs. He leans forwards and plucks gentle kisses to the corner of her mouth. She groans as he teases around where she needs him most.

 

“I’ve thought about kissing you every second I’m _awake_.” He tells, with closed eyes as he kisses nearer her bottom lip. Her heart squeezes painfully. She’d never known she’d put him through such torment. She wants to groan. He flips between desperately horny and taking his sweet unhurried time. She never knows what’s coming next.

 

Not until two big fingers of his brush against her clit. His chest keeping her legs splayed wide open.

 

They are joined by Ben, who slinks in beside her on the sofa. Smelling champagne on his breath. He hums a smile and leans over into her and starts to suck on her neck. She gasps in pleasure as he works on her neck, Kylo begins his advance on her cunt. Her skin erupting in blissful prickles.

 

“Now I’m gonna kiss you... Gonna kiss you _properly_ , where I’ve wanted to for _weeks_ now.” Kylo tells.

 

Tilting her hips back for access, leaning her back, pushing her into Ben, who bites her collarbone red as his hand strokes around one pebbled nipple. She’s shivering and thrumming with pleasure and they’ve barely begun.

 

_“_ Keep her still. She’ll _squirm_.” Kylo warns Ben. He shuffles down, and lowers his mouth to her pussy. Feasting with his eyes first as he presses closed mouth kisses all over her slavering pink lips.

 

Getting a sampling taste of her on his tongue. Ben’s busy giving her champagne kisses, but he speaks up when Kylo makes her squeak a moan, by kissing over her clit with his plump lips.

 

“You haven’t eaten pussy in quite a while. Ky. Need me to _demonstrate_ how it’s done, for you?” Ben leers. His tongue lapping at a spot below her ear.

 

Kylo glares up at his brother - before he spears his tongue into her pussy. He smells her. Tastes her. _At last_.

 

His black eyes roll back in his head.

 

His hips arch forwards and he bumps his hard, clothed erection against the couch where he’s knelt on the floor - he’s sure he’s tasting the most perfect pussy there’s ever been.

 

_“Holy fuck_. Kitten.” He snarls into her. Humming. Not breaking away from licking her for even a second. He wants to swallow her cunt _whole_. He nuzzles his nose and face right in. Making his tongue at home in her blazing hot, pink, tightness. She pants and moans and gasps his name like a prayer.

 

“No other man’s getting his mouth on this pussy whilst I live and breathe. Not ever. I’ll kill them for it. It’s _mine now_.” He warns. “This tight pink pussy belongs to _me_.” He mumbles. Drunk off her taste.

 

She’s sweet, tart and slick. Like warm honey and champagne. Her clit feels made to be in his mouth, or rolling under his tongue. He suckles on her there. There, where she’s tight, hot and wet.

 

“I want a taste of her later, when you’re quite finished.” Ben mumbles into her ear. Speaking to Kylo. The man seemed possessed by what was between her legs. Hands clawing into her thighs, hot tongue curling and lapping, shrewd wet sounds of his sucking tongue and mouth filling the air. It’s filthy. It’s _so good._ _  
_

Evie’s legs tremble, but Kylo keeps them anchored. His nails dig into her thighs tugging her closer onto his face. She can feel his tongue explore every inch of her. Dipping and prodding. His nose nudging against her cleft.

 

“My poor brother hasn’t eaten pussy for four excruciating years, baby. I’m amazed he hasn’t got you on that bed of yours, sitting that cute cunt on his face. I’m gonna have to have that particular honour of you riding my face.” Ben hushes to her in-between kisses to her neck. Sucking bruises into her skin. One hand gently tracing fingers around her puckered nipple.

 

Ben smirks when he sees her fingers clawing into the cushion beside her. The other grasping his thigh as she throws her head back, eyes shut, face screwed up in pleasure.

 

“Here baby...” Ben takes her hand and brings it to cover his clothed cock. “I got something much better you can grab onto.” She sighs and opens her eyes to look at him when she feels he’s every bit as, _blessed_ , as his brother in regards to the godly size of his cock.

 

“Can’t wait to get my dick in you.” He growls as she gently rubs him, urged on by his hand guiding her. “ _Harder_ -Oh fuck yeah... baby-good girl.” He smirks at her neck, she’d gripped him tightly when Kylo playfully drags a finger over her dripping lips.

 

He feasts his eyes on her when he pulls back and sees her drooling pussy dripping his spit and her arousal right down onto the wooden floor. A string of it trailing slick from her. Her wetness sheening his chin and full lips. His mouth bruised wet and shiny red where he’d been sucking on her.

 

He’s wearing the essence of her pussy all over his lower face. And that makes her hot, silk walls flutter around the finger he now slowly presses inside her.

 

She grips Ben’s cock tight again. Groaning a low and slow, drawn out sound.

 

“Ohhh- _god_. Kylo.” She whines. Head still thrown back, mouth gaping open wide.

 

She feels Ben’s hips thrust up under her hand. Twitching.

 

“ _Fuck_ -Gorgeous. You grip me like that again, and I’m at risk of cumming right here in my boxers. Haven’t done that since ninth _grade_.” Ben chuckles. Biting her neck and pinching lightly at her nipple.

 

She writhes up into Kylo’s mouth at that, making his fingers sink into her deeper. Ben reaches her chin with his fingers and tilts her head down to make her look at Kylo.

 

“I want to see the look on your pretty face when you watch him split your pussy open with his fingers.” He sighs into her ear. She swallows and keeps her eyes locked into Kylo’s gaze.

 

“You take your eyes off me. And I stop Kitten. _Understand_.” He tells. She nods through a ragged breath. Her cheeks and chest blazing pink with heat. It’s spread it’s furiously hot way down her neck too.

 

She looks him dead in the eye, mouth slack, as Kylo brings two fingers to her weeping pink core, and slowly sinks them deep into her. Stretching her obscenely open wide. Cause his hands were _big_.

 

She could feel how tight she was with his digits pressing into her. She bites her lip and keeps her glance in his, her legs fighting to tremble and clench together.

 

Ben is watching his brothers slick fingers fuck her open. Watching the thick things disappear into her. His eyes filled with heat. Unable to resist watching.

 

“You like when I stuff your cunt with my fingers, Kitten?” Kylo asks her. He looks up and sees Ben eyeing up how his finger glistened with evidence of her drooling pussy. Coated in her.

 

“Ben likes it too, by the looks of things.” Kylo speaks to her. His cock leapt under her hand. “Like me, he’s _obsessed_ with your cunt, baby.” He adds. Grinning at finally having the upper hand.

 

Ben swallows. Getting rid of the saliva that had built from watching Kylo stuffing her full.

 

“Oh Kylo- _uh_.” However hard she wants to throw her head back. She tries to do as he said. Which he made hard to accomplish as he leans down an slurps at her taut clit. Teeth naughtily scraping it, to see her reaction. And he smirks open mouthed against her when he sees how makes her shiver and _jolt_.

 

Ben leans away from her for a second, reaching for something. Evie darts a look across when she hears the clinging of glass and a faint slosh of liquid. He tips the neck of the bottle up to his lips, taking a sip. He stands it down and leans across for her once more. Big hand cups her face and brings her mouth to his.

 

She yelps - the squeaking sound muffled into Ben’s mouth. Firstly, because Kylo’s fingers then struck at a soft, sweet spot inside her that sent searing pleasure sparking entirely through her lower body.

 

And secondly, because Ben lets a hot stream of fizzing, tangy champagne flow into her mouth from his. Pushing his tongue into her mouth. Sharing the fruity, sparkling tang of it. Making her swallow it. Making her submit to his champagne kisses.

 

He tasted heavenly. His lips moving in a passionate onslaught against her own. His free hand wandered for her breast, groping once more at her nipple. She jerks and moans into his mouth because of Kylo battering her delicate spot with his brute fingers. He finally lets her pull away for breath. They part with a moan.

 

When she looks down to Kylo once again, she sees the black pits of his eyes were gleaming up at her. Watching them. He refocuses her attention back to him by lapping at her clit again. She could feel that pulsing energy knotting in her abdomen, coiling and tightening. Rushing her towards one of the most powerful orgasms she’s sure she’s ever felt.

 

She faked it with Jimmy. Of course - sex with him felt good. But she was never entirely satisfied by it. These two seemed designed to wring out every last ounce of pleasure they could - like wringing oil from a cloth. She’d be spent and limp by the time they were sated.

 

“Kylo...” She warns breathily. Her thighs fighting not to clamp about his head. Her hands clutch for Ben.

 

He impatiently shucks down his fly, undoes the button on his trousers and gets her hand around his cock. Skin to skin. Helping show her how he likes to be stroked. She twisted her wrist around his head, and he chuckles. Precome wetting her palm. There was a lot of it.

 

“I have to admit. I’m very jealous of my brother right now. I may get to have your sweet little hand around my dick. But he gets to be face first in your tasty pussy.” He moans into her ear. Before surprising her by leaning forwards and sucking the breast closest to him into his mouth. Tongue rolling her stiff nipple under it.

 

It’s overwhelming. A sudden onslaught of sensations bursting over her body. Molten heat replacing her bloodstream as pure ecstasy shatters across her body like lightning.

 

The sensations she feels emanating from her pussy made her shift, and try to retreat back from the mercilessness of Kylo’s fingers and tongue. It’s almost a pain she feels as his fingers press inside her to that spongy spot. It feels like something wants to burst out of her and she tries to escape from it.

 

“I _can’t_. It’s too- ugh. Oh god. I can’t...” she whines. Shaking and shivering. Tears spearing her eyes at the sheer overwhelming nature of the feelings he’s pleasuring her into.

 

“Yes you fucking can, Kitten. You better. Or I won’t stop doing this until you do cum for me...” Kylo growls. “I’ve been dreaming of tasting your cum in my mouth for a month now. You _better not_ disappoint me...” He snarls up at her. Lapping her furiously.

 

Her body curls and arches. She yanks her hand, hard, the back Ben’s hair where his head was still on her chest. Licking at her nipples. She feels her thighs tremble, and before she knows it, her body arches and convulses. Shuddering as her climax blindingly powers through her. Her small body jerking and pulsing.

 

She cums violently fast, and loud. Screeching Kylo’s name in a blissful benediction. He’d never liked the sound of his own name more, than when it fell in rapture from her lips.

 

He’s doubly pleased with the amount of cum she gives him to lick up. Drinking it in. Her orgasm had successfully drenched down to his wrist. _That was a good start._ He pulls his fingers from her and is quick to place them on his tongue. Sucking up her cream that coated his hand. Loving how her eager pussy still drooled for him.

 

She’s collapsed back into Ben’s side. Head tipped back, staring at the ceiling. Her skin tacky with sweat. Chest heaving. Flushed. She sits up to look at him with dazed eyes and a parted mouth when she feels him press his body into her chest.

 

“You still scared of me now?” He flirts with a smirk. Her wetness still sheening his chin. He leans down and nuzzles into her sternum. Rubbing her cum and scent all over. Marking her with it. He kisses the spots where her moles lay. Feeling her heart thrum under his lips. His big, dry, callused hands skim over her tummy, ribs, breasts. Feeling her everywhere he could reach.

 

“Only a little, I suppose...” She let’s out with a slight shy smile. He smirks mirthfully against her nipple before he sucks on it.

 

“Let’s remedy that...” He smiles. His fingers reach for his shirt buttons and he strips them open. Pulling it off his arms, and wrangling his shoulders free of the black garment. Letting it fall away to the floor behind him.

 

The tattooed chest she so often wonders about finally comes into view. She doesn’t realise she’s staring at it until Kylo chuckles, his hand sliding for hers.

 

“You wanna touch me baby?” He asks her.

 

She bites her lip and blinks down at his torso. She nods slightly. He comes closer, that broad wall of muscle. He brings her hand to touch his shoulder.

 

“Do it.” He whispers hotly. Voice thick with need. His free hand hooking round her back and yanking her into his chest. Her breasts crush to him. Her thighs about his waist. She’s barely on the lip of the sofa. His body pinned her in place well.

 

She feels breathless all over again when those hard slabs of power and muscle are skin to skin with her. That handsome face close, his breath fanning against her lips. Dark black eyes watching her vigilantly like a predator. She tilts her head to look down at his right shoulder. Fingers tracing a complex pattern that followed his collarbone. Skimming over the skull inked onto his shoulder to mirror the one opposite. Nipple rings gleaming a darting glimmer of silver in the half light.

 

She feels his chest dip and swell under her hand. Feels the body heat keeping him burning hot. Ben had told her he ran hot. Kylo felt the same.

 

“What I said... earlier...” She begins. Her words bursting out softly in an insane fit of bravery. Kylo’s smirk curls in that way it so often did.

 

“That I wanted to... well. I wanted to _kiss_ -“ she starts. He doesn’t give her a chance to shrink away. He cups the side of her neck. Fingertips sinking into her hair, and he gives her the most hard and sultry kiss she’s _ever_ experienced in her life.

 

Her face creases in soundless pleasure as their lips meet properly for the first time. It felt good. It felt _right_. They melted into each other with heavy breaths, lust and the promise of more pleasure to come lingered.

 

She gingerly lets her hands twine into his hair. It’s silky black and so soft. She lets her hands card into it. Stroking him.

 

He kisses her thorough and proper. His tongue, tasting of her, plunged into her mouth. Stealing her breath and her sanity. It could be the point her heart starts wanting to throw itself after this intense man.

 

He pulls back first - in control as ever. One hand keeping to her neck as the other slides up and down her thigh. As if he himself wasn’t a gorgeous enough sight already. With kiss bruised lips and flushed cheeks, he manages to look about as sinful as the apple that first tempted Eve in the garden of Eden.

 

“We’ll be needing to use that bed of yours kitten. For the way I’m gonna fuck you, you’ll need something soft under you.” He grins at her. Before standing and hauling her up in his arms.

 

“I get her pussy now. Only fair now you’ve had a turn...” Ben states from his position lounged out on her sofa. Trousers undone, underwear shoved down over his cock, which sat weeping and angry red, smearing precome against his pale belly button where his blue shirt had been rucked up. He still had that bottle of Dom in hand. Rolled against his thigh. No shame at all in the way he sat exposing himself. Legs spread wide.

 

It wasn’t as if he had anything to be shy about.

 

Kylo turns to look back at his twin. Ben leers at him.

 

“We had an agreement to share nicely. Those pretty lips get a seat on my face. You can have her cute little mouth, _and_ get to be the first one of us to fuck her.” Ben suggests.

 

Evie bites her lip from where she’s standing. Encircled in Kylo’s arms. Crushed to his chest. Feeling his erection bob against her thigh, through his jeans at Ben’s proposition.

 

“Fine.” Kylo gruffs. Turning to Evie and scooping his big hand under the back of her hair to tantalise her soft, small neck. Where she stood, she can feel her wetness trickling down her legs, almost to her knees.

 

“I wanted to see these pretty lips stretched around the head of my dick, anyway.” Kylo smiles dirtily at her. Leaning in the kiss the corner of her mouth. His playful tongue tipping against her lips. He pulls back and she’s never felt more _naked_.

 

She self consciously curls up in on herself. Arms over her chest as they decide who was doing what to her next. Kylo yanks her arms away and tugs her into his body.

 

Her bare nipples brushing hard against the friction of warm his chest makes him growl. His nipple rings thrashing cold against her skin. His hand comes round from her shoulders to squeeze at her throat again. His fingers lightly fluttering pressure against her jugular.

 

“No you _fucking_ don’t. Don’t dare try and fucking hide any part of your gorgeous body from me. Kitten.” He warns lowly. His hand grabs her face in both hands, and he crowds her back as he steps close. Making her look up at him as he stoops to roar filthy promises at her.

 

“I’ve been wanting to see all of you. And _all_ of you is exactly what I’ll have.” He makes clear. “You disobey me again and I’ll tie your fucking hands behind your back.” He swears.

 

She nods slowly. A weak “Sorry.” Leaving her lips.

 

“Don’t be sorry. Just get over _here_...” Kylo urges roughly yanking her up into his arms. Her thighs split open to go either side of his body. Her aching wet pussy rubbing against the fastening of his trousers. His hands cupped her ass. Feeling it’s shape.

 

“Ready for round _two_ , Kitten?” He asks. Nibbling on her ear as he whisks her away, out and upstairs into the hall. Up to her bedroom.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to feed my comment addiction, you lovely babes know what to do...


	16. Ruined & Debauched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hearty welcome to punk’s porn den! And to think, this is part two of three....
> 
> Now all I need to do is stop my phone changing Kylo to Kyko.

 

 

 

 

 

She’s hauled away upstairs. Carried up and away in the dizzying height of Kylo’s hold, She remarks to herself how she’s never felt so _small_ when in a man’s arms.

 

She clutched onto the back of Kylo’s neck, her fingers curl gently into his fine, soft hair at the nape. Her nose and mouth burying into his shoulder. Taking in a lungful of his blissful cologne. She’s never scented anything like it.

 

Trust Kylo Ren to be _the_ most singular man she’s ever encountered.

 

Each note of it was exquisite. Woody cedar, sharp pepper, bright packs of zesty orange. It’s as beautiful and finely crafted as the man who wears it.

 

Kylo rounds her bedroom door frame, walking them across to her bed. His smirk quirks up wider when he spots her neatly made, queen size. _Plenty_ of room for what he had in mind.

 

He doesn’t exactly place her down onto the bed gently. She jolts a little as she’s thrown back. Kylo watches her gorgeous tits bounce with the abrupt movement.

 

She leans back on her elbows, nervously chewing her lower lip. legs draped over the edge of the bed as she gazes up at him.

 

His eyes linger on what’s _between_ her legs.

 

How her sweet slick coats her thighs. Shimmering wet, like a sirens beacon, in the otherwise dark room. No light save for the reaches of the speckled moonshine, masked by the tree outside her window. Where Kylo stood, the bright light peppered across his alabaster, inky torso.

 

She forgot she left her window open earlier. Cool rushes in. Yet she’s never felt so warm. Her bedroom dark, quiet and sweetly fragranced with hot purple sweet lilac. _Dark and delicious._

_Speaking of..._

 

Kylo kicks off his shoes and socks, and stands barefoot, smirking at her. Where she didn’t move to close her legs, he wets his lips at the sight of her pussy. Loving how the taste of her still lingered on his tongue.

 

He drawls at her in a sexy purr “Kitten. You got _such_ a fucking cute cunt.” Smiling darkly at it. “I’m in fucking love with it already.” He sneers.

 

With him stood, and her sat, their size difference was plainly obvious. She sits up and his hands pin to her waist and he pulls her forwards to bring her into his body. Catching her hands he makes her watch as he puts them on his trouser waist.

 

Ben breezes into the room beside them. She sees him cross the end of the bed and then feels when his weight dips the mattress where he sprawls out behind her. His big hand dances teasing traces up her spine.

 

Kylo is sure to grip her chin and keep her focused on him. “Eyes front and centre, baby.” He warns with a soft growl.

 

She glances up at him as she starts to undo his buttons, and work on the fastener of his jeans. She pulls it down, and he shucks them off his legs, kicking them away. Now in his underwear, he gives her the nod and she pulls those down too, swallowing nervously when his red angry monster of a cock wags free, not inches from her face.

 

“You’re gonna take me in your mouth. Whilst Ben sit’s that sweet pussy of yours on his face.”

 

Ben is behind her. Purring encouragement in her ear. “Come on baby. _Suck_ him. Make him feel good with your mouth.” He toys. Both hands sliding round to cup her breasts as his lazy grin bites into her neck.

 

Her cheeks heat in shame. She looks like she opens her mouth to speak, before looking down. Kylo sense’s her hesitation and grips her face. Index finger under her chin. Thumb stroking her cheek.

 

_He knew when his Kitten wanted to say something._

 

“What is it?” Kylo demands from her. He was roughly two seconds away from fucking her hot little mouth. He wasn’t going to be patient or gentle.

 

“My ex told me I was- never really any good at...it.” She confesses nervously. Looking up to Kylo.

 

Ben scoffs around his teeth sunk into her neck. “Your ex sounds like a prissy cunt, to me.”

 

Kylo grabs her hand and wraps it in his. Guiding her to stroke his cock. He shudders, catching his lower lip between his teeth. She clenches her thighs.

 

“Kitten. Your douche bag shit of an ex isn’t here right now. Luckily for him. But I _am_. And I intend fuck your hot little mouth.” He tells her.

 

“Open up...” He commands.

 

She gingerly leans forwards and presses her tiny hands into Kylo’s big hips. His skin burning her palms. He carefully steadies himself with one hand, stroking up and down before gripping the monster-girth base of it. She leans in and gently and lets her tongue hang out. He nudged it closer and sighs when he watches it slip slowly onto her waiting pink tongue.

 

The sight of his weeping, pulsing dick disappearing into her mouth was like a heavenly mirage. _He couldn’t believe this was finally happening._

 

“Such a good girl...” Ben rasps into her ear. “Go ahead and swallow my brothers big fat _dick_.” He growls hotly. Her cheeks can’t get much redder than they are right now.

 

Intimidated by the size of him, she starts off slow. Lightly sucking on his head. Letting her lips close around him. Stretching wide to accommodate. Tasting his musky skin and salty precome. _All male._ He felt so hard and heavy in her mouth. She swallows and the taste of him coats her throat.

 

Kylo growls so loud she almost tears back off him. But when she looks up, there’s nothing but pleasure on his face.

 

“That’s it baby... mmmmmmn- _fuck_. Your mouth is as sweet as - _ah_ , your pussy kitten.” Kylo groans through her gently sucking on him. She pulls back a little and wets her lips.

 

She’s not surprised to find Ben’s filthy mouth at her ear as she blows Kylo. His hand’s continue to play with her tits. Rolling them. Toying with them. Teasing them with gentle touches before overwhelming her with hard plucking twists with the ends of his fingers.

 

“I don’t know how he’s survived _this_ long without being blown. I wouldn’t last a _week_. Drool all over his big dick, baby. I’d say the poor guy deserves to have his cock sucked by a gorgeous girl like you.” Ben teases the shell of her ear with a bite. Evie can feel his smile. Though she’s too focused on hollowing her cheeks and trying to take Kylo deeper in her mouth.

 

“Never had one _this_ big, have you Kitten?” Kylo smirks down at her.

 

Cupping the back of her head. Hand tangling into her mussed hair. Pulling her forwards until he nudged against the back of her throat. Tears spear at her eyes, she’s struggling to breathe and he’s _choking_ her with the heft of his twelve inch dick stuffed down her throat.

 

He thrusts his hips gently. Mumbling to himself. “ _God_ I wanna fuck that cute face. Dreamt about it so many damn times. _My_ thoughts of it could never compare to this...” He smiles down at her.

 

A long, sticky string of drool falls from the underside of his cock, down her chin. He drags his thumb through it. Thumbs across her lower lip.

 

“My messy girl...” He grins down at her. The way those blue eyes look up at him wet and pleading, makes his balls tighten up. He grips her hand and grunts out a curse when he curls one of her little hands to brush against his balls. Cupping them.

 

She can’t deny - as nervous as she is about doing this and wanting to please him as much as she’s able - He looks _sinfully_ beautiful when he throws his head back and moans. His cheeks still flushed. Brows furrowed. His straining body curved towards her, lips parted in a slack jawed groan. Feeling her bob her head. Trying in vain to make her mouth meet the fist she had groped at the base of his shaft.

 

When he looks down at her once more. His eyes are smouldering black.

 

“You’re doing _so_ good Kitten.” He rewards her. “Like you were _made_ to be sucking on my dick.” He tells her, his eyes lazily transfixed, watching his flushed red length slide in and out of her spit wet lips. His lips gape as he takes in the sight of her.

 

When she pulls off him once more. His hand shoots out to cup her throat. He doesn’t squeeze - this time. But he does keep her mouth from going to his cock again.

 

“Just the tip in your mouth now kitten. Suck gently. Tease me. Little circles with your tongue...” He suggests. She complied.

 

She leans in again, but not before he slides two fingers into her mouth and pushes in all the drool, spit and precome smeared around her lips.

 

She decided to damn her meekness, and be playful - She curls her tongue around his thick fingers, sucking, exploring their shape with her mouth; seeing it made his erection _wag_ before her. She watches his eyes shift darker. Glinting distantly like black skies on a starry night.

 

“ _Oh_ , baby....” He growls. Eyes pinning her down. “Tempt me like that again, and you _will_ suffer the consequences.” He warns heatedly. She lets his fingers trail from her mouth. Leaving behind a slick trail of spit, connecting them together.

 

She carefully guides his thick head into her mouth again and sucks him gently, like he asked. She swirls on his head like a lollipop. Sucking, dragging, swirling her tongue flat, and then in short little licks. His cock is weeping readily onto her tongue and she swallows it all. Humming around him. Kylo digs his hands in her hair again. Trying hard not to fuck her face, and plow her with his powerful hips.

 

“Greedy baby. You like the taste of cock on your tongue?” Ben asks with a smirk.

 

She whimpers loud around Kylo’s cock. Facial expression drawing into utter pleasure, toe’s curling, nipples hard, when Ben’s fingers sneak around her hip and dive into her hot slippery pussy.

 

Kylo grabs her head hard when she moans and hums around him. He shoves in her throat deeper to hear it more. She gags and drools. The wet squelch as he fucks her throat is filthy. _And hot as hell._

 

“Wet cunts don’t _lie_. Pretty girl. I think you _do_ love a cock being stuffed in your little mouth.” Ben leers.

 

Kylo grunts. Grabbing her throat again. Jerking it up, forcing her to look at him.

 

“Get his face in your pussy. Kitten. Maybe that’ll shut him _the fuck_ up.” He growls. _Then he can have his dick sucked in peace..._

Ben leaps into action, like an overexcited kid. Biting his lip. He leaps away - not before pinching her bottom - and hastily undressing on the other side of the bed. Evie can hear the rustle of clothes on skin. Zippers being yanked down. Shoes kicked off. The bed shifts again, his big body taking up so much space she almost rolls back into him.

 

He grasps her hips. And she unlatched her mouth from Kylo, turning back. Ben is flat on his back, width ways across her bed, guiding her to kneel across the bridge of his face.

 

“Get those lips on my face right the _fuck_ _now_.” He demands.

 

His big hands easily dwarf her pale thighs. Splitting her legs, he hungrily brings her down on his mouth before she can protest. His lips and jaw to be her seat.

 

Her hand shoots out to grasp the bedstead to her immediate left. Her hands gripping onto the wrought iron frame for dear life. A whine sails loud out her lips.

 

_God, the things Ben Solo could do a woman with his tongue._

 

He hums into her wet lips. Shaking his head side to side. What with being a messy, unorganised guy in most things: his approach to eating pussy was no different. Kylo was more intense, he swooped straight in for the sweet spot, and had relentlessly utilised it against her. _Merciless_. Ben was more playful. H _e_ lets his tongue slather over every inch of her. Tucking into every hidden spot he could find. Slurping and sucking deeper, harder, when she moans.

 

“So soft...” Ben mumbles. Sucking her thigh where slick that dared to escape her slid out. He sucks it into his mouth and bites a hickey on her innocent inner thigh at the same time. He licks his lips, tasting the pure sweet flavour of pussy running into his mouth. “So fucking wet...” He growls. Smiling as he dives in again. His eyes crease where he smiles. But the panty-dropping smirk is hidden by her cunt.

 

Bronze eyes watch her carefully from the frame of her spread thighs.

 

“Eat her good for me Ben. I want those pink pussy lips swollen, and her body _trembling_ for me by the time I get to fuck her.” Kylo dictates. Seeing she was obviously very much affected by what Ben was doing.

 

_He wants her pleasured walls fluttering around his cock when he finally gets to drive all fat, twelve inches of it home inside her._

 

She pants a gasp out at his dirty words. “ _Oh-hhmmm_ -god.” She whines.

 

Kylo tangles his hand in her hair, brings her forwards, and with one sharp snap of his hips, his cock is buried down her hot throat.

 

Her hands grapple for Kylo’s tensed thighs. Hooking around his hips as he indulged in his wish from earlier. Pulling him closer. He chuckles at that. Gently starting to fuck his cock to spear deeper and deeper into her mouth. Stroking her hair with his big hands. Watching her blue eyes as she drools and slobbers all over his cock.

 

“I think my brothers loosing himself in you Kitten. He’s barely able to pull his mouth off your delicious pussy...” He croons down to her. Listening to the wet slaps of his cock, the way his heavy sac hits her chin as he pounds lightly. Smearing against her drool that dropped there.

 

She feels Ben rubbing his prominent nose into her. Indulging himself in the cunt that’s been driving him to distraction for weeks. He thought her panties were a decent souvenir - they are _nothing_ but a useless scrap now he’s got her honey-sweet pussy sucked into his mouth. Sitting on his tongue as he fucks it up into her, and grinds her on his face. Hands on her hips making her move.

 

Timed well with the way Kylo bobs her head on him, Ben grinds her over his mouth, making her ride his face. Slippery hot lips moving with ease. Slicked up with spit and arousal. Ben swallows it all down like it was his duty. Almost as if it were his life’s force. In a dirty way, it was _. Given his reputation._

 

She’s humming _so much_ about Kylo’s length that was jammed in her mouth, he has to pull back before he pumps his cum down her throat in a hot load. As much as he wants to see her swallow it, his cum _belongs_ in her pussy tonight. He won’t settle for anything _less_.

 

He yanks her head back by her hair, she comes away from him strung with spit. Lips wet and red. Panting for breath, groaning with slight relief as oxygen rushed into her starved lungs. Cheeks pink, some small curls of hair stuck wet to her cheeks. Pasted there with sweat.

 

She looks uncertain - surprised that he pulled away. He didn’t manage to get her nose pressed to his groin like he wanted. But he had to warm her up for that kind of feat. They’d have _plenty_ more nights to practice that, after all - cause she was _his_ now. Whether she wanted to be, or not.

 

“You were _born_ to suck my cock like that baby. You did _so_ good. But when I do cum tonight, It will be, _deep_ , inside you.” He pledges.

 

Kylo sinks down and hungrily kisses her. His tongue runs along her teeth. Dominating. He sucks the taste of his precome onto his tongue, as it forcefully curls into her shy one. Licking into her mouth. She muffled a moan onto his tongue that sounds like a crying worship of his name.

 

“I like the taste of me in your mouth.” He purrs. Pulling back from their messy, tongue-tangling, filthy hot kiss. He kissed her like he was fighting to own her. She wants to tell him that he _needn’t_ bother with that inclination. For he already does.

 

When he peers down at her. He unsticks hair from her cheek. Admiring the way her expression is pinched in the onslaught of her orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver. She’s so wet, by the sounds of it, she’s simply pouring slick and cum into Ben’s mouth. Moving her body in a frenzy. Drenched in sweat. Ready to _fall apart._

_He can smell her cunt from where he’s standing._

 

Kylo helps her along. He thumbs her nipples. She squeaks. He sees Ben already left several bruises and purple-black bites across them. Making her sore already. _Good_.

He was going to show her what toll a _proper fucking_ took on her. He wants her bed bound tomorrow. And he’s going to go all night to achieve that aim, if he must. He had a lot of sex to catch up on. - four years worth of celibacy and masturbation, were a poor substitute for proper fucking.

 

Proper hard fucking. And a pussy like hers. He’d have waited a lifetime to fuck her if necessary.

 

He twists at her nipples. Tweaking. She squeals loudly. Bucking on his twins face. He’s able to ignore his own weeping red cock, focusing instead on how his kitten looks when she cum’s. He likes that he can see red lines from his knife scratched along her skin. Like brutal kisses.

 

“Cum in his mouth.” Kylo urges. “Show him how good you can _gush_ , Kitten.” He leers. Cupping her neck one side, looking at how his tattooed hand looks beside her flushed skin. Her mouth opens and several gasps and groans escape her as her shivering body rubs against Ben. Cumming all over his face.

 

Kylo watches a slick burst dribble down Ben’s cheeks. He’s jealous watching his twins tongue sucking her up. Licking her clean. He lifts her off him, and lies propped on his side beside her prostrate body. Erection tenting his boxers. Wet spot leaking through.

 

Evie sags, dropping down onto all fours. Her arms and legs spasming wildly. Her head hanging low as he finished pulling air into her lungs. She screams anew when Ben pulls his face away and plunges a finger into her. Swirling it, listening to the sound of her cum swilling around his finger in a dirty wet squish.

 

 

She drips down his hand. And he licks it all away. Devouring her off his fingers. Messily wiping off his cum-stained face. Grinning madly like a kid in a candy store.

 

“You were right Ky. Such a messy girl. Can’t believe how much _cum_ you gave me gorgeous.” Ben smirks. Bringing a hand down to smack her ass. She shivers. ”Almost drowned me, sweetie. Good thing I happen to _love_ licking you clean.” 

 

“I’ve never...” She sighs. “Had orgasms like those before...” She’s panting. But when she looks up and sees the way Kylo is watching her - she knows her night is _far_ from over.

 

“Turn around. We’re _just_ getting warmed up with you, Kitten.” He smirks. She gulps. Not sure if she wants to smile - or sob. She felt so spent already, and she’s only cum _twice_.

 

She pivots around on her knees, turning around and positioning herself with her hands on the bed. She intakes a sharp breath when Kylo charges into her from behind. Climbing onto the bed from behind her. Nudging her knees apart, snapping her hips back to slam to his in his massive hands.

 

His needy cock rubs into her backside. Almost red-purple with longing by now. Slicking his oozing precome all over her ass cheeks. She whines when she feels the hard hotness of his cock. He was on his knees behind her - his whole big body was a raging furnace where hers was cooling and clammy. She can’t deny how intoxicating it is to have a man of all his Titan-like strength and size pressed to her back. He completely dwarfs her - and there’s something about that she loves.

 

He takes his cock to hand, stroking the heavy shaft before bringing it under her parted legs and slapping it to her clit, prodding it into the hood of it. She tried to close her legs in _bliss_. His velvet hot head stroking her pussy, causes prickles to ripple at her skin. _Choking_ on her moans Sheer pleasure pulsing around her leaking core. There was a wet spot beneath her on the bed by now. She’s shivering like a cowed dog, waiting to be given his cock.

 

Once again, he grips her neck from behind in his free hand, his other still tantalising her with his length. His mouth fogs and chills her ear with his breath when he speaks.

 

“I’m gonna fuck you _so_ good, Kitten. You’ll be praying you never laid eyes on me. Cause once I get inside this pussy, I’m gonna _wreck you_ for any other man.” He assures her.

 

“Too _late_ for that...” She answers with a whimper. He chuckles. His sharp, white, wolffish teeth snacking on her earlobe.

 

She feels his blunt head stretch her open, she breathes through the burning sting of it. And then he deftly plunges in....

 

It’s so good, it’s almost a painful ache. He hammers home with a deep plunge of his hips. It felt as if he shifted everything in her body up, in order purely to make room for his cock to fit inside her. Her whole focus, her whole reason for being, tapered down to the feeling of having this big, brute, _beautiful_ , man inside her. Slapping and slurping his way into her tight wet heat.

 

She can feel herself clenching so tightly, she can savour the feel of every pulsing vein, and every smooth ridge of him. So filled - She feels his heartbeat down there as it echos out in her cunt from his girth. They moan and shift together. He’s cursing. She’s whining.

 

“ _Fuck_ baby. You been holding out this tiny tight cunt from me for two months? _Oh_ I should’ve bent you over the table and taken you like this the first time you stepped _foot_ in that room...” He ponders. Hot breath kissing her ear. Slamming his cock in deep. Giving her scant few seconds to adjust. Listening to how her wetness squelched with each thrust.

 

“You’re so very wet baby. So full of your cum. I can _feel it_ , thick hot around me.” Kylo remarks in a grunt. Feeling her cream slip down and out his cock, down his balls. Leaking down his thighs, there was _so much_ of it in her. So much of it they’d coaxed out of her.

 

She whines aloud like she’s being slowly slaughtered when he hits her cervix.

 

If she’d have opened her eyes - she would’ve got a glimpse of Ben lying on his side. Greedy bronze eyes watching the way Kylo’s cock split her tiny body wide open. Stretching her needy pink hole to the brim. His hand was a jerking lump in his boxers as he stroked himself to the sight of Kylo fucking her hard, from behind. _Ever the voyeur_.

 

Kylo catches sight of his desperate twin and grins. “Open your eyes.” He gruffs to her. She does.

 

When she sees Ben, it makes her cunt clench over Kylo’s pounding length. He curses.

 

“Fuck- Kitten. Look at him. Look how desperate he is.... See? See how fucking bad he wants you? Greedy son of bitch that he is wants you impaled on _his_ dick like this. Riding him. Stretching your perfect cunt wide open...” He begins

 

“But instead. He’s gonna sit there and _watch_. He’s gonna watch _me_ as I fuck you so full of _my_ cum.” He promises. Thrusting harder and harder as he spoke.

 

“He’s gonna fuck you when I’m done. I’ll let him do it. Because I know he’s gonna feel me after I empty deep in your pussy. And he’s gonna have to get used to fact that I _had you_ first.” He adds.

 

“Look at her Ben. Look how her pussy drools.... how _much_ do you want to fuck her right now? Huh? How much do you wish it’s you making her gorgeous cunt cream all over your dick...” He leers at his twin.

 

He lifts her thighs open and lets Ben see as he paws her hips, allowing him a glimpse of how her pussy is drooling wet, and creamy, running in rivulets onto his shining red cock. He spanks her ass too, as he fucks her. Hand landing firm. Sharp slaps making her flesh jiggle.

 

He may have been speaking to Evie. But Kylo’s eyes were solidly fixed on Ben. Growling into her neck, kissing her, squeezing her throat. Fucking her whilst locking eyes with his Twin. And _grinning_.

 

“Fucking _show_ off...” Ben snaps at him. His hips thrusting into his hands when he sees how _swollen_ wet her pussy lips are. A desperate moan leaving his mouth. He can’t take his eyes off off it.

 

“You should see how swollen red her cunt is right now. _Fucking_ amazing...” Ben moans, throwing his head back. Hand squeezing faster and twisting up over his head. Thumbing the wet tip.

 

The sight of Kylo’s dick tightly clenched in-between her weeping lips, is making his cock leak obscene amounts of precome. Making him want to drink in her pussy again. He closes his eyes and listens to the sounds, and sighs she makes. Hears how wet sounds of their fucking fills the room.

 

When he opens his eyes, Evie is sobbing in bliss in Kylo’s arms. He’s clenching her throat and hissing in her ear with a smile as his other hand viciously teases her clit with big rough circles. Ben can honest to god see tears fall, dripping down her pleasured, blushing face.

 

“I can feel you cumming. Feel your wet pussy splashing against my thighs. Be a good Kitten and cum for me. Cum all over this cock and show me how much you love it.” Kylo urges. His thrusts and words getting shorter and sharper.

 

“Scream for us, Baby. Scream loud. No ones here to hear you... _fuck_ ” Ben whines, head thrown back on her bed as his cum spurts, coating his hand, shooting in thick creamy ropes over his stomach. He growls in bliss. Not taking his eyes from Evie’s pussy. Licking his lips.

 

Her hand is clasped over Kylo’s on her neck. Her vision blurring at the edges. Her head swimming. Her body lost in pleasure. It’s sweeping through her so powerfully she doesn’t feel like she’s in control of herself anymore - of course _she isn’t;_ Kylo is. And he’s drawing pleasure from her with such deft knowledge, she’s wondering how in the hell shes still conscious.

 

Her shaking hands claw into him and he bites down, clamping his sharp teeth over her neck as they both cum. Evie doesn’t hear herself scream and whine, but they _do_. She sighs, and pleads gods name, alongside Kylo’s.

 

“ _He_ can’t help you now.” Kylo teases into her ear with a strained smirk. Still pumping his hips inside her. His hand on her breast, and throat. Feeling her flushed and dripping sweat. She’s dripping their _cum too._

 

Kylo’s thrusts slow. And he seems satisfied for a second. But not before he throws her back down on the bed. Yanks her thigh wide in his hands. Splaying her open. Looking at the evidence of them. Globs of white cum joining them together.

 

“What a gorgeous creamy pussy...” He remarks, looking up at her. He slams into her again and goes hell for leather.

 

“Fuck. You just made me cum baby. But I need to keep _ahahhh_ \- going. _Shit_.” He bites out. She feels a steady stream of him _still_ continue to pour into her. Pumping his hips into her, pounding air out of her. Ecstasy pulsing through her supremely sore pussy that had just taken the most immense pounding of its life.

 

_And Kylo was still cumming_.

 

Drenching deep in her abdomen. Filling her with unending spurts of his hot, thick cum. He throws his head back and moans as she cums around him again. Bursting over him. Twitching. Sweaty neck thrown back to the pillows. Hair wrecked. Body blushing a furious pink. Hands clawed into the bedspread.

 

She is entirely debauched. Breathless. Sweating. Spent and purring his name. Cunt wrecked for any other man.

 

Kylo pulls back, a puddle of oozing white flows from her swollen core. Leaking a giant wet spot below her.

 

He tilts his head. Panting in pride. “My perfect little creampie.” He growls. Dipping his head to slosh his tongue right into her. Lapping them up. She writhes up and tries to escape him. Body sore from too much pleasure.

 

Searing tears drip from the corners of her eyes into the pillows. Kylo watches her chest heave, his still hard dick smearing cum against her thigh. Smirking down at his ruined kitten.

 

“I’ll be _nice_ and let you recover, only for a bit though, Kitten. Cause now it’s _Ben’s_ turn with you.” He coos.

 

Evie shuts her eyes. Sighing as she feels her pussy flutter. She’s just absolutely ruined - and she doesn’t know why but her pained and sore, treacherous body can’t _wait_ for more...

 

 

~ 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d that filth go for you folks?


	17. Needs & Urges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow I love youse guy’s comments. They honestly mean the world, several moons, and the entire solar system to me. ❤️ I’m blessed with such a set of lovely readers and commenters. 
> 
> And doubly holy wow reaching 200 comments. 60 bookmarks and 500 kudos - holy f u c k. I honestly never expected that kinda love. I just wanted to thirst over a dark murderer kylo in prison. So every one of you get some multiple xoxoxo from me 
> 
> Just in case you’re fed up of the porn (I highly suspect not) but this is the final part 3 of it.

 

 

 

 

 

Kylo watches Evie as she drifts off in their post-fuck afterglow.

 

Her heaving chest dips softer and slower, peachy pebbled nipples rocking, before her breathing finally evened out. Gentle and easy. He notices, smirking, how her love-bitten tits rise and fall. Sweat sheened along every inch and svelte curved plain of her small body. Her neck and collarbone are still flushed a rosy pink.

 

_His gorgeous, fucked out, sleepy Kitten._

 

His arms still cage her to the bed, his still eager cock is hard and prodding at her thigh. Slicking into the smeared mess of the both of them. He pulls right back and lowers his gaze to the apex of her thighs _._ Watching the oozing white mess there, leak out. Soaking into her rosebud patterned bedsheets.

 

Ben had been right - her well used pussy was _so_ swollen and pink. He imagines she was most likely well on the way to being sore by now. The way they’d both been at her cunt, she was probably over-sensitised, too.

 

He smirks down as he swipes his big thumb over her taut ripe clit. Her hips _shuddered_ as he did. He kneels back and off her, one leg resting bent under him, the other on the floor.

A hot gush of lilac infused air from the open window sweeps over his naked body. Ruffling at Kylo and her damp, sweaty hair. Skimming both their clammy flushed skin.

 

The floorboard creaks behind him, and he just realised Ben had left her bedroom a long time ago. He was too caught up staring to care.

 

He went off to clean himself up in her small en-suite. He now waltzed back into the room from downstairs, boxers slung on his hips. Two glass tumblers in one hand. A bottle of Glenfiddich he brought with him in the other.

 

He chucks Kylo a glass and pours him a great slug of it. Kylo watches his twin cast a sweeping eye over her body as she rests in the centre of the bed. Supping whiskey back as he does.

 

“ _Poor_ thing must be exhausted.” Ben coos.

 

Kylo throws back the amber contents of his glass. Groaning at the taste of whiskey and his earlier taste of _kitten_ mixing on his palate. He places it on her bedside, before he stands, body creaking into motion. Shoulders straining back into place, knees cracking. Snags his underwear from the floor and hoists it back on.

 

He stretched out his beefy, hulking frame. Gazing for a moment out of her window as he unwound his tightly strung muscles. Watching the tree branches sway in the hot summer wind. Scattered in drops of white moonlight from the spreaded canopy of stars up above.

 

A good fuck can clear the mind. His felt remarkably lucid from being in her pussy just the _once_. But he knew the energy pulsing in his blood means he’ll need to fuck her again. Fuck her _raw_ before the night is out.

 

The tension in his neck and shoulders feels eased. And his thighs and calves stretch. Neck cracking, as he settles back down near the foot of the bed with his whiskey in hand. He drains the glass and stands the empty thing on his thigh. Looking up the bed to her.

 

Ben threw his whiskey down his throat. Wiping away what little of it had soaked into his tache and beard. He thunked his glass down on the drawers opposite. His eyes not once, leaving Evie. Once again, shoves his boxers down past his knees. Freeing his thick, burgeoning erection.

 

The bed frame creaked and cracked as Ben moved onto it. Moving across on his knees. His hands smoothed up her thighs and he eyes up her pussy like it’s the most _gorgeous_ delicacy on planet Earth.

 

His flat tongue curled out and suckled on her clit, her legs shifted on the bed. A soft groan tumbled through her. Ben gets close and spits right into her pussy. Before he straightens and gets up on his knees between her spread ones. He grasps his cock by the base and drags it against her core. Still dripping wet, slick, from Kylo’s use earlier.

 

His mouth goes slack as he drags his cock all across her pussy. Feeling her wetness string and smear against his head.

 

“So hot, baby. Look at you. Dripping with cream and you still look so _fucking_ innocent.” He growls.

 

“Though I gotta say; you look simply damn irresistible, oozing a guys _cum_.”

 

He strokes up to his heavy base before he leans in and grabs her hips. Sinking himself, inch by inch, inside her blissful heat.

 

He throws his head back when he bottoms out inside her. Her sweet tight walls clamping down on him like a drenched velvet vice. She rubs him perfectly. She’s _so tight,_ he’s almost forced out.

 

But he doesn’t let himself get forced out. That’s not his style. He grabs her body and slams in deeper. His thighs clenching as he felt himself bump against her cervix. She groans again in her sleep. Shifting now, waking up a bit more as Ben hammers into her, each upward stroke getting harder and harder. His balls slapping against her. Back muscles, sinewy and corded, straining to maintain his pounding.

 

Kylo watched his Kitten slowly come too. Coming too, now aware of the feeling of Ben fucking into her as she rested. His dirty motor-mouth began spouting its usual filth...

 

“You’re _far_ from finished tonight. Sweet thing. Now it’s my turn to feel your cunt clenching down on my big dick.” He croons to her. “I’m gonna stuff you _so_ damn _full_...” He pledges, with another pump of his wide hips.

 

He can hear her wet pussy slurp and slap around him as he plunges in. Kylo sups whiskey with a grin when she flutters her eyes open, her chest heaving fast again, with a groan. A groan that shifts into the most needy whine with the way Ben circles his hips. Dragging his body to shift and grind up against her clit.

 

“ _Oh_.” She gasps as she wakes.

 

Ben grins like the smug slut that he is. “ _Ahhh_. There she is.” He purrs with a chuckle. “My little insatiable, babydoll.” He flirts down at her. With his cock jabbing _deep_ into her cervix.

 

Evie’s mouth opens in a soundless cry. Brows creased in pleasure. Fingers clutching white onto the bedsheets below. Blinking awake to the big man above her, sawing into her earnestly. Stuffing her to the hilt with his big veiny cock.

 

“Hope you didn’t forget about me, baby?” He asks. She tries to answer that she hadn’t dared, but he makes that impossible.

 

Shifting to the side slightly to pump harder against the weakness of her g-spot. Knowing he was hitting the right place when her screams began to shatter the air around them. Punctuated by slapping hips, and the marrying of wet flesh. Her pussy swilled so much wetness around his cock, it was _unreal_.

 

“ _Oh_ , you take my cock so well sweet girl. I can feel how tightly I’m stretching your perfect pussy. So _good_.” He whines. “Such a _fucking good_ pussy.” Slowing down, letting her feel the slick tug and plunge of him. Every vein of his length pulsing. Every ridge, was rock hard.

 

He slows down enough to enjoy the sight of himself pushing into her. Angry flushed red column of him, covered in her white cream and slick. _Sinfully pretty._

 

Ben sits back on his heels, taking himself in hand, he then messily slaps his head to her leaking lips. Pushing his precome and her wetness all around her cleft and inner thighs. Smelling the tang of her arousal hanging in the air between them. His white teeth snag his lower lip in a smile as he fights off the urge to throw her legs in the air, hold them open and _eat_ her heart out. Swallow all that divinely tasty sticky white cream her pussy is _so good_ at gushing for him.

 

_He’d drowned in it when she sat on his face._

 

He just stuck his tongue out and let her shudder it all over it, when her cum burst from her in a hot sweet stream. Let the taste of her slide down his throat like the fine champagne he drank earlier. Only this was far more _exclusive_ , and far more priceless.

 

He still had the taste of her, her _cum_ , dripping from his facial hair too. Her pussy was everywhere on him. He was wearing it like cologne on his cheeks and neck, where she came, dripping all over him when she sat on his face. Wearing her cunt’s scent like perfume. And he _fucking loves it._

 

His attention is taken up by the view he gets of her spread wide legs. His eyes flutter downwards from her pink cunt. Lingering on the tiny tightness that was her ass.

 

Ben licks his lips. Dark bronzed eyes flicking up to her own terrified blue ones. Evie is about to ask why he looks so elated, when he ducks his head and licks a stripe down her cunt, _and_ lower, prodding his soft tongue around her puckering hole.

 

She jerks and moans at the unexpected and strange intrusion of his hot wet tongue toying with her ass.

 

“You really _are_ sweet everywhere..” Ben mumbles against her ass. The vibrations humming odd against her skin. That was before he gives it another flicking lick with his tongue. The tip of it started to push into her puckered skin.

 

She sits up on her elbows on the bed. Panic glinting in her shaded ocean eyes. Apprehension coiling up in her body.

 

“Have you ever had a man _fuck_ you in the ass baby?” He asks with a grin that outdid the Cheshire Cat.

 

She wants to burst into flames and die of heat and shame. Her cheeks blaring pink. Flushing down her neck. Eyes blow wide in surprise.

 

She gulps. “No ones ever-” She can’t bring herself to repeat his words. “...done _that_ with me..” Comes her shy explanation.

 

Ben _grins_.

 

“Anal Virgin? _God_. I wanna _pop_ that cute little cherry.” Ben leers.

 

“I don’t think you’d-“ She looks down at the gigantic thing between hanging stiff between his legs. “ _Fit_.” She adds quickly.

 

She was a somewhat clever woman. She had a fully functioning knowledge of metaphysics and the inner workings within the world of sciences, engineering and mathematics. But _still_ she couldn’t concede that his massive, fat, _beast_ of a cock had fit inside her, so snugly, only moments previously.

 

“You’d be surprised, gorgeous.” He winks. His thumb swiping over her perineum, down to its destination of her slippery wet ass.

 

“Don’t get any of your stupid ideas. You’ll _hurt_ her.” Kylo growls in an interjection from the end of the bed.

 

Compared to how Ben rambles on and on, Kylo was mute in comparison. He studied. Brooded. Used his eyes and otherwise kept silent. Hearing his deep, rich voice was like showering cool rain after a years drought.

 

She likes the baritone husk of Kylo’s voice. She wants to hear more of it. Wants to bathe and bask in its richness like a bath of hot water, infused with sumptuous body oils. 

 

“Just take what I’m allowing you to have. And be thankful I haven’t given you a black eye by _this_ point.” He warns lowly.

 

Evie daggers a look over to Kylo. Whose dark eyes were so bright and piercing at her, she loses a breath. She looks back to Ben when his hand shifts.

 

He rubs his thumb over her ass one last time. “ _Spoil_ sport.” He leers to Kylo. However, his eyes definitively locked in with hers. There was _hunger_ ebbing up in them.

 

He doesn’t give her a gentle approach this time. He widens his knees, and rails into her with one thrust. The sounds that come out of her she doesn’t recognise. She’s never moaned so carnally, so feral, in _all_ her life. So loud she hears the sound shatter and bounce off her flowery wallpapered bedroom walls.

 

“ _Ohhhoo-_ Yeah baby. You love this dick don’t you? Oh god I _know_ you do. Your pretty face gives it all away.”

 

Her noises served to make Kylo instantly hard. Cock springing up to wag against the confines of his boxers. Where his semi-erect cock had rested on his thigh, still coated in cum from both of them, a slick puddle now oozes and sticks against his leg. Stringing to the head of him.

 

Ben starts to pound away. Hands on her hips, like clamps, slamming her forwards up onto him. Fucking himself into her body like a man possessed. A man possessed with her pussy, that was for _damn sure._

_“_ This cunt, sweetie _-Fuck._ Finest damn thing I’ve ever had. Anything else after this will be a fucking disappointment. _”_ Ben moans. She whines his name in a plea.

 

“Never dreamed this pussy could be so _perfect_ around my cock.” He adds.

 

“It’s the _only_ time you’ll get to enjoy it. So make the most of her.” Kylo warns. More whiskey poured in his glass. It’s trickling heat sliding down his throat as he sips. Eyeing how well her swollen pink lips stretch wide to take Ben. It really was a _glorious_ sight. Made him _damn hungry._

 

“You’re just jealous big guy. _Uh_ \- Having to watch how I get to rail her senseless. Now it’s your turn to sit back and watch. I could’ve _had_ her on her back before you got out. But I wanted you here to watch when I do.... _this_.” He rambles.

 

He fucks deeper and rougher. Cupping her body close. Giving her no room to escape each dominant thrust. Angling himself upwards to batter her g-spot again. His fingers rubbing swirls over her clit that peeked out, shiny pink and taut, from under its hood with the way he held her.

 

She practically screams. _Loudly_. Sobbing Ben’s name. Her face creased in so much pleasure, it almost looks like she’s squirming in agony. _She isn’t. Even if her pussy feels red raw by now._

She’s just getting to grips with his brutal rhythm. Pleasure and sore pain in equal measure bursting through her body. His punching thrusts knocking her breathless. When he stops, and yanks her up off the cushions into his arms.

 

She gets hauled around the bed. Seated on the edge as Ben kneels naked on the floorboards between her thighs. Mouth sucking one breast as fingers play with the other.

 

“I’ll be Mr. Nice guy. Give you a choice of how you wanna be pounded apart with my dick.” He smirks. Fingers playing with her stiff nipple as he spoke. _  
_

 

“All fours? Or legs on my shoulders?” He asks wickedly. Kylos cock twitches at the mentioned visual of both positions.

 

Evie’s mouth gaped. For a girl who only ever seemed to have unsatisfying, vanilla, missionary sex; this was overwhelming and caught her off guard. _Everything_ about this evening had trapped her unawares.

 

“Legs on shoulders?” She asks with a little frown. She’s never heard of that one before.

 

Ben leaps up and grabs her legs, pulling her so her bottom came flush with the edge of the bed. He stands and splits her legs in his massive hands. Toying with the way he teases the head of his dick to rub and tantalise the clit he rubbed sore not seconds ago. She shivers. His silky wet head felt _so good_ grinding up into her.

 

“Oh, Ben...” She coos softly from the bed. Her voice a breathy gasp of its previous self. She’s so worn out. Body sore from being pleasured. _Just a bit more can’t hurt?..._ the devil on her shoulder cackles.

 

“Would ask if your ready for me... but judging by the way your pretty pussy is just drooling real good for me. I think that’s my answer. Hold tight if you need to baby. This’ll be the fucking _ride_ of your life.” Ben warns before sinking in again.

 

His hips flush to her, he then drapes her shapely legs either side of his shoulders, hands cupping her shins as he bends her nearly double, back into the bed. His cock slamming into her again. She loses her breath.

 

He’s spearing his thickness into her and she’s struggling to remain sane. The pleasure it makes pulse through her abdomen is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It’s jolting up her spine, nearly wrecking her. It’s sharp and brutal. And it rags on every nerve it can find.

 

He leaves her legs pressed against his sweating pecs. Pressed together to make her pussy tighter than it already was. Her hot wet walls gripping tight and not letting go. Fluttering and clenching around him the way he wanted her too.

 

His hands then go and cup her ass and lift her off the bed. Keeping her flush to his pubic bone as he grinds in deep. Spanking her ass a couple of times with light slaps whilst he pistons his hips.

 

“Bet your shit-bag of an ex never did this with you? Did he sweetie? Never fucked you on his pathetic cock the way this pussy deserves to be pounded.” He babbles in a smile.

 

“Your ex never had a dick like mine. You’ll be sore to sit down for a _week_. Evie. Every time your raw pussy clenches in pain. You’re gonna think of _me_.” He punctuates with a deep pump of his hips. She whines a nod. Biting her lip. His mouth having fallen perpetually slack, with the amazing way she grips at him.

 

Big rough mitts suddenly cupping her tits make her jerk in pleasure and surprise. She tilts her head round and sees Kylo is knelt opposite Ben, on the far side of the bed. His shoulders arching over her, arms reached out forwards to cup over her breasts. His mouth at her ear.

 

“I’m _certain_ your ex never had a dick the size of ours.” Kylo croons huskily in her ear. “I could tell from the way your  eyes _widened_ when you saw me for the first time.” He chuckles. Thumbs stroking over her hard nipples, that bounced with Bens thrusts. Evie’s head falls back to hit Kylo’s tattooed, beefy shoulder and he turns his head, ducking to suck love-bites onto her sweaty throat.

 

“What was he? _Four_ inches?” Kylo teases into her ear. Ben chuckles.

 

“How’s that compare to our girthy twelves?” Ben then adds into the mockery. Stroking up her thigh with one hand. Shoving _his_ twelve inches deep.

 

“I ought to hunt that fucker down and teach him a damn lesson for not having the decency to fuck you _properly_ , like you needed, Kitten.” Kylo mused into her ear. Nibbling the skin of her flushed neck to bruise. Her throat would be crowned with a wreath of spreading black and blue come tomorrow.

 

Her hands are scrabbling for bedsheets as Ben plows her. Kylo won’t have that - as her and Ben’s obscene wet smacks fill the bedroom where their bodies meet, he takes one of her hands and brings them behind her head, to grip into the tatted trunk of his hefty bicep.

 

“Dig your hands into me if you need something to grab onto baby.” He tells her. “Leave your marks on me.” He smiles. Sucking on her neck, nosing into her with his plump lips on her sensitive neck. He knows that makes her quake with longing.

 

She twists her head to try and meet his eyes. “I’m worried I’ll hurt you..” She moans.

 

Kylo chuckles darkly into her neck. “You’re so adorable. I doubt you could hurt me even if you _tried_ , Kitten.” He explains. His voice a rasp. Growing hoarse and horny as she digs her nails into his flesh to sting when Ben at rubs her clit. Kylo’s hips clip into the bed, seeking sweet friction against his hard on. The pain morphing into pleasure. _He liked the edge of it._

 

“Kylo...” She suddenly gasps out loudly. His teeth sunk into her neck and he smirks up at Ben. Her neck was stretched back to arc back, her head hitting on his shoulder.

 

“How come _I’m_ balls deep in her pussy, and she’s still moaning _your_ name?” Ben smirks. Going faster, harder, listening to how she yelps. His thumb relentlessly stroking her clit. Feeling how that made her walls clamp down on him.

 

“I’m sorry, Ben I _didn’t- I_ - _Oh._ ” She sobs as she feels her release start to mount upon her. Flaring through her belly, white hot heat racing up her spine.

 

“No hard feelings. Baby. I’ll be more mad if you don’t _cum_. Now just focus on my dick and how much you’re gonna cream for me. _Scream_ again sweetie. I wanna hear my name out that pretty mouth...” He urges. The way she gripped him tight was _unholy_. It felt too damn good to be true.

 

She pants, gasps, and as it was with Kylo making her orgasm earlier, her body is being used and abused into whole unexplored galaxies of pleasure. And she’s enjoying every second. No matter how unhealthy this whole arrangement was. They were debauching her, and fucking her like feral beasts. She’s never had men like them, in bed. _Or in her._ _  
_

_She_   _doesn’t_ _know if_ _she’s_ _blessed or_ _cursed_ _by that fact._ _  
_

 

“I’m gonn- _I’m_ gonna...” She squeals between moans. Her whole body rigid. Ben’s hands pushing her legs tight together to make her pussy unfathomably tight, all the better for him to cum into.

 

“Fucking- _ah_ , Hell. Baby I’ll cum in you so deep you’re gonna fucking feel it in your chest. _Shit_.” He warns. His hips screwing into her so damn fast and hard she’s sure she can’t breathe. Especially when Kylo’s hand clutches at both her nipples. Pinching the pebbles nubs tightly between his fingers.

 

Pleasure hummed through every pulse point in her body. Flared through her pussy, her clit. Spread like sweet fire through her nipples and she sobs, and sobs, and _finally_  cums.

 

Her free hand clutches Kylo’s hair. And shoulder, and Ben feels her toes curl against his body, legs quivering, as he fucks her through her mind-shattering orgasm that bled her body dry of everything she had to give.

 

He came as he pulls her legs apart wide and watches the way his cock splits her. Watched her sticky-white slick drool over his length.

 

She milked his dick of every drop he could give her. She lit up with pleasure. It sang through her in a hum and she is plucked apart by it.

 

He listens to his balls slap wetly against her as he watches himself, and Kylo, dominate her with enough pleasure to drive her out of her once innocent little mind. They’ve ruined her. As they said they would. She’ll never be satisfied by _anyone else._ _  
_

Only _their_ cocks, fingers and tongues would ever be enough for her now they’ve stuffed and pleasured her greedy body full to the brim. No one normal would ever be good enough again now she’s tasted this dark, _delicious_ , delirious depravity.

 

He shudders and spurts his orgasm into her slowly. Feeling himself drag and stroke along her tight walls. Now hot and packed tightly with his cum. He pulls himself back out of her, watching her stretched out cunt shrink back down to its normal tight size. She’s dribbling the oozing white evidence of him out of her. So full now it had burst back out over him.

 

Now it’s leaking in strings and streaks across the edge of the bed. Some of it leaked down onto her bare wood floor. His mouth waters for her.

 

She’s spent. But he _isn’t_. He scoops her thighs into his hands, cups her under ass, and brings that heavenly pussy to his mouth. She sits up gasping as Ben’s tongue dives into her deep. Licking away everything he could. No qualms about tasting himself in her. It was Ben after all. Of course he had _no qualms._

 

He hummed in pleasure lapping up the combined sticky mess of them. Every time his tongue strokes over her sensitive lips, she jolts. Trying to scurry away from his hot, greedy mouth. Ben swallowed them down, pushing his luck when he pushed a thick finger in to feel her silken walls that had taken a goddamn pounding.

 

“So full of me, aren’t you?” He smirks. Kissing over her clit. Licking that clean too. Licking everywhere his tongue could travel. Chasing after every drop.

 

“We taste _so damn_ good together, gorgeous.” Ben tells. His eyes looking up past her body to meet Kylo’s.

 

Ben winks at his twin. Kylo snaps. _He was so easy to rile up._

 

He scrambles quickly over the bed, tugging his underwear off as he goes. His enormous hard-on freed. Wagging between his legs. Ready for her again.

 

He all but yanks her into his hands. Ben steps away, sucking on his fingers. Curling his tongue slowly around each one. Humming a groan again at the taste of her still there. Her cum stringing on his digits.

 

Evie shrinks when Kylo gets his hands on her. She yells when his brute hands get her hips. “On your knees.” He demands in a threatening growl.

 

She’s so spent, and weak. She tries to twist around but it wasn’t quick enough for him. He grabs and flips her over. Shoving her more onto the bed with his big hips. She sobs his name and is wracked with shivers, trembling when he slams that big cock of his into her poor, debased pussy. Stroking her hot walls.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Kitten.” He grits his teeth. Hands clamping her hips to ram himself into her. _How was she always so beyond perfect to fuck?_

 

Ever since Ben had suggested doing her doggy, its a visual he _couldn’t_ scrub from his mind.

 

He’d be sinking his cock into this pussy every damn night from now on. Every morning he wakes up too. He wants _her_. _All of her._ He thought it was only lust that made him ache for her. But it wasn’t. She was strangling his very thought. Haunting him so finely he’ll never escape her.

 

She’d carefully ebbed her humble, adorable self into the black pit where his rotten heart lay. Studded in deep. Like shrapnel he could _never_ bear to have removed. It could kill him. But that was a risk he’s willing to take.

 

Pleasure is zinging up her spine. Curling her toes so tight. Her legs shook and _hurt_.

 

Everything feels sore. The way he’s fucking her is both pleasure, but there’s also a pain emanating through her like a pinching cramp in her torso.

 

Her wet walls take him in so well. Punched out, battered gasps leave her lip with every thrust. His cock-head rubbing at a spot so _so_ deep within her, she is soon crying out ragged whimpers with each pound of his hips. She was stretched tight to her limits.

 

“Clench that heavenly pussy for me, Kitten. I’m gonna make _such_ a fucking creampie out of you. You’ll feel me dripping out for days to come.” He growls. Snarling at her. Big hand sinking into her hair and arching her spine, curving into her deeper. Feeling like every jab of his cock tore her further and further apart.

 

She opens her eyes and then she understands why Kylo’s hand was tugging up her head.

 

She sobs when Ben, knelt in front of her, strokes her cheek and slips his thick Cock past her lips. Plunging into her mouth. Stroking along her tongue. Her muffled sounds ripple along his dick stuffed in her mouth.

 

“Clean me off baby. Get a taste of your wet pretty pussy on my dick.” He smiles. She sucks and swirls to the best of her ability. Humming around him when she whines.

 

She couldn’t fathom she had _both_ their impressive lengths pressed into her body. It’s the most insanely dirty position she’s ever been in.

 

Kylo’s hand leaves its knot in her hair. Going back to grasping her hips. Bens takes its place. Softly feeling the shape of her skull. Guiding her. Loving how her spit began to coat him. She’s already gagging on him. Tasting the addictive tang of her, and the salt of him, mingled together.

 

Tears of bliss and pain drip from her eyes and she cannot be sure which one of them is causing it.

 

Kylo’s fucking so fast now. Ben grins at his twin. “Rub her clit, I want her _choking_ on her moans.”

 

Kylo’s rough hand does just that. Swirling against her clit, her wetness splashing against his hand.

 

“Cum all over me Kitten... Drench me.” He grins out roughly. His snapping hips stabbing up into her.

 

With this orgasm, she has little choice in the matter, it rolls up and crests like a crashing wave. Over and over again it breaks. Smashing its way through her body as Kylo spurts a big hot load of his cum in her.

 

She cries onto Ben. He pulls out to listen to her whines with a keen smile.

 

Like last time, Kylo doesn’t stop until his thrusts start to chafe with too much sensitivity curling against his hard on. Finally finished emptying in her, he pulls out, a slick rush following his retreat. He’d made her gush once again. It dripped down his thigh and spattered onto the bed. He watches her weakened body tremble, leaking evidence of their pleasure spilling freely from her swollen lips.

 

“Damn baby.” Ben smirks down at her. “That last shout broke my eardrums. What a loud, _messy_ kitten.” He flirts. Stroking her spit wet mouth, and guiding away her tears.

 

Kylo cleans up their mess of his cock with his boxers scrunched in his hand. Before he climbs back on the bed.

 

She flinched when Kylo reaches for her again. She whines a sob. He’d call it a fighting cry. Only there was no _fight_ left in it.

 

“No more. I can’t _do anymore. Please_ _._ _I_ _can’t_ ” She pleads. Her voice a weakened, hoarse, little beg.

 

Kylo picks her up by the waist and brings her backwards, shushing her.

 

“Quiet now, Kitten.” He orders gently.

 

His mouth nestled in her hair. He guides her back to his chest, one hand covering her hip in its entirety, he curls her thighs and ass into his as he lays on his left side, tucking her into his body. His big arms bunched around her middle. Resting their heads on the pillow, she’s encircled, lost in this man’s arms, she feels so small. Feeling their sweaty bodies tacky, sticking together. His hot skin radiating notes of his faded cologne out to her.

 

He gently cards a hand through her hair. His mouth against her neck, nuzzling into the sweat that stuck there. It kissed against his lips and he sucks beads of it away where they fell.

 

“You did _fucking_ good, sweetie...” Ben mumbles as he lies down. Arms crossed behind his head, beside her on the next pillow. “Who knew such a tiny pussy could take _such_ a big pounding.” He grins at her.

 

She’s flushed from head to toe but she still blushes. She puts that not entirely down to Ben. The way Kylo’s big hands were skimming her body. Dragging knuckles down her thigh. Up over the shape of her hip. Counting each rib.

 

She feels his nose and lips smile as he mashes his face into her neck. And sweeps hair off her sticky hot forehead. The way his arms tighten around her made her feel as safe as she’s ever known. Her small body swallowed up whole in this massive man’s arms. 

 

_Why had she_ _ever been scared of this big brute man?_

 

He smiles kisses sweetly into her neck between words. “Rest now, Kitten. You’ve _more_ than earned it.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t need Jesus by this point. I’m beyond that. I think I need an exorcism....
> 
> And if you want to see Sinnermans “Killer Kylo” playlist; it be here https://open.spotify.com/user/libbyvioletturner/playlist/3D35N77ff39RCo4kwb3Wah?si=SIlSXcSAQ6qwWP17CiSkbg


	18. Off limits & Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This lil shorty here leads nicely into some morning after fluff. 
> 
> I promise this is the last snippet of Kylo x Ben x Evie porn (merely to indulge my thirst of Ben being told he can’t do something and then doing it anyway) Ben Solo does not heed the definition of forbidden fruit.
> 
> Oh and psssst. If you want to go the extra mile and hear what I hear when I think of “Killer Kylo” it be this bitch here https://open.spotify.com/user/libbyvioletturner/playlist/3D35N77ff39RCo4kwb3Wah?si=SIlSXcSAQ6qwWP17CiSkbg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her eyes opened lazily. Gently blinking open to see the familiar dark stretch of her bedroom walls.

 

The warmest butter yellow wallpaper, scrawled with roses and violets. The sheer lace curtains drifting hazily, like white smoke, in the breeze from the open window.

 

The purple blurred dots swaying outside the window focus into what she recognised as the lilac tree, beyond the frame of the open window-sill, where the moonlight spilled in.

 

She snuffles her nose into the pillow, mumbling a sleepy groan as she does. Resting her head on the pillow.

 

Then she feels the warm breath buffeting against the back of her neck. Fogging up her skin.

 

She blinks just that little bit wider awake.

 

Her body is a bit slower to the catch. However, when she shifts her hips, she can feel a big, solid arm wrapped around her middle, draped over her hip. Like a strong tree root that had wrapped around her in her sleep. As if a solid vine was growing especially to keep her rooted to the spot. Except vines _didn’t_ have sleeve tattoos. _Nor_ did they smell so invitingly of Ormonde Jayne cologne.

 

She glances down and sees his ink mottled arm wedges her into the bed, and into the giant safe furnace of his body. His nipple rings hot and hard against her shoulders. His hair bleeding across to join with hers on the pillow. His hair was like an ink stain. Black in the middle, but a russet tinge of brown sullied the outer reaches of it. His cologne ebbing across on the hot air. She wonders if it would be detectable on her pillows. His scent soaking into them the way her perfume does, too.

 

His big fingers are also hooked between her legs. Almost _in_ her pussy. Thick fingertips dipping in her wetness ever so slightly.

 

Even in his sleep Kylo keeps a _claim_ on what is his.

 

She takes a second to feel his cavernous chest swelling and sinking behind her. She twists ever so slightly about to see him asleep at her back. That brutal, intense face gently sloped in rest, looked so impossibly benign and gentle, it makes her abdomen flutter.

 

He looked so _kissable_ like this. So inviting. She wants to curl up into the hollow of his wide shoulder. Nestle her face there and kiss at his neck. Let her fingers trace those swirling patterns stabbed into his skin. Follow the scar that damned, rotten prison left him with. But if there was ever a man she knew to be volatile, it was him. She rescinds a prison visitors golden rule, and decides to keep her curious hands to herself.

 

She didn’t feel like he’d harm her. _Not now_ _._ But still, there in him, an edge lurked. A dangerous one that she hasn’t quite mastered the knack of it yet. She errs on the cautious side. As always.

 

She can’t help but notice how his full lips looked so tempting. And his dark eyelashes cast a spidery shadow down his fine cheek. She wants to reach out and touch him, admire this sleeping _god_ of a man. The bedspread he’d draped over his hip, covering the sleeping giant she could feel resting limp against on his thigh. Still bloody huge even when he wasn’t erect.

 

She wants to stay curled up like a housecat into his Grecian god form - but, her throat is rasping sore and crying out for a drink to moisten it.

 

She reaches for Kylo’s arm, and gently slides it, _out_ , and off her. Groaning breathily as his fingers brush her clit. She lets the enormous deadweight of it slip back to the bed. Cushioned into the mattress.

 

She shifts over, but finds her path blocked by another big wall of broad-backed muscle. She intakes a breath seeing Ben sprawled across her bed, head turned toward her, shaggy hair a mess against her flowery patterned pillows. His thick pale arms were crossing his chest and tummy. She half wonders to herself if Kylo hadn’t shoved his twins wandering paws away from her naked body, if they came prowling across in the night.

 

She’s sandwiched between two hulking, hot, colossal bodies. With no easy means of escape. How ironic.

 

There’s no way she can get past his massive body, without waking him. So she decides for a very ungraceful shimmying down and over his feet. Her legs wobble as she stretched one over him, and places it to the floor. The cold wood zinging a cool tingle up her leg. She felt the spasm of an ache flare sharply through her body when she finally comes to her feet.

 

She was actually amazed she could stand upright. Her legs feel rubbery and useless, she did have to clutch into the bedstead to support herself as she stands and gets her breath back as silently as she can. Not intending to give a rude awakening to the slumbering titans behind her.

 

She presses a hand to her belly. Her entire lower half felt sore. It wasn’t a wonder. Inspecting her body with a glance, she see’s that there’s not many places she isn’t bruised. _Branded_.

 

Marked with the evidence of two _sinful_ , big men using her body like their own playground of pleasure.

 

Feeling discomfort at the fact she was naked. She staggers on uncertain feet across to her dresser, gently yanking open the drawer, and slipping a crisp, cotton striped nightshirt over her head. Brushing it down her thighs. Cloaking her sore, loved-up body, in a cool swathe of cotton that smelt like washing powder, lilac and home.

 

She helps herself move along, not trusting to her legs just yet, she clings onto door frames and the top of her dresser to help ease her weakened way to her bathroom. A few wobbly steps from spasming legs and she makes it. She pushes the door shut and curses a little wince at its whining, creaking complaint.

 

She didn’t lock it - the scratch and twist of the latch was far too loud. Leaving the door ajar, she stumbles for her Victorian free standing, porcelain sink. Cushioning the bare slap of her feet on the small mat in front of it. Fumbling for the twin lights flanking the mirror, she fiddles with the brass dimmer switch, and a gentle glow floods her eyes.

 

She blinks at the sight of her unveiled from darkness in the mirrors reflection. Her cheeks were still ruddy, hair that barely warranted its name. It was a messy, jumbled, tangle. Her neck, and chest is what made her gasp in fright. It looked someone had attempted a _strangling_.

 

No one had ever left marks like those on her. Trust it to be _those two_ to break that rule. Blue, yellow, green and tiny hints and pinpricks of red were ringing her neck in huge bite marks. Strung around her throat the way fine jewellery would. Kylo she suspects to be the main culprit for those. She’d drifted off to sleep knowing his mouth was sucking her sweat away, and his tongue and sharp teeth curling at her jugular, the same way his smirk did.

 

That wasn’t the only way he’d left little reminders of his attentions. Her inner thighs felt sticky and slippery still. When she pressed her legs together, she felt slick _string_ between them as she pulled apart. The slightest movement against her cunt made her shiver in the dull aching it caused.

 

She’s an uncanny feeling this was the aforementioned, blissed out, “ _jelly-limbed”_ state Kylo had growled at her in prison. Being fucked so good her legs don’t work. Hers are barely keeping her standing. The sink is the pillar currently holding her upright.

 

She pours herself a glass full of water from the toothbrush stand. Not minding the aftertaste of minty toothpaste. Her throat soothed by the cool drink that pours like ambrosia down her dry throat.

 

She’d been awfully vocal earlier - after all. She suspects she’s also now hoarse, too.

 

Then she splashes some cool water on her burning hot cheeks. Helping them to calm. And dries her face on her lavender scented towels. Sighing into the fabric as she cups it to her face. When she takes it away, and steps back to the mirror, her body reels and leaps in fright upon seeing the deep dark pair of eyes joining her own reflection in the mirror.

 

She’s pressed forward into the sink, feeling the cold of it through her nightshirt. Her hand braced on the sides, as big hands claw into the back of her hips. Hot breath rolls over her ear, drifting lazily through her hair, shifting it forwards. His presence in her narrow little bathroom managed to suck all the air out of it in one fell swoop.

 

She shivers when a sharp tache and rough goatee scrape onto her tender neck. She catches his smirk, half hidden in her hair. Stark white teeth of his looking sharp and cutting in his sinister smile. She feels his thick fingers slowly advancing their march on her thighs, hiking up the hem of her over-large night shirt.

 

“Don’t keep hiding this fucking beautiful body from us, babe.” He commands. “You hide it away from Kylo, and me, again, and he’ll tie you face down on the bed and spank your ass red _raw_.” He tells. “And if _gladly_ watch him redden your hot little ass with his handprints.”

 

She watches him in the mirror as he’s cornered her into the sink the way a pouncing predator cunningly senses its prey’s desired moment of weakness. It was all it took.

 

“Ben...” She gasps in shock. Heart ramming into her ribs like a battering ram. The force of its pounding felt like it could shatter bone. Her word transcends into a groan. He both made her tremble with the way he kisses her weak neck, and the way his chin presses into the tender bruises. Flutters of pain. Mixed with flutters of pleasure.

 

Her mouth gapes and she grips the sink tight when he hitched the shirt up over her ass, watching both cheeks jiggle with his rough treatment. He presses the shirt to her lower back, whilst his other hand curves her back towards the sink. Forcing her into an arc, jutting out her plump ass towards him. She wants to interject something, but he stunts her words as he grumbles a kiss into the back of her thigh.

 

“You sore baby? Need something nice and hot, and soothing, on your pussy?” He asks her. Her toes curl and bunch into the rug below her at the rasp of his voice. So low she feels it sink into her skin, osmosis, humming through her. Dirty mouth making her _melt_.

 

“I know _exactly_ what your pretty cunt needs...” He hums to himself in pride. Sucking another kissing bite, lower down her thigh. Tasting her slick and a faint tang of dried cum trickling there.

 

She bites on her lip when his tongue sticks out and curls up under her, stroking her clit, resting under her spread legs, jamming his face into her from behind. She manages to snatch her brain back for one last thought before it twirls up to heaven like an escaped balloon.

 

“Wha-what about Kylo? About what h-he said?” She whimpers quietly. Flickering her worried eyes to the door, trying to look beyond it to see if he’d come bursting in on them.

 

“You worried about me, or yourself baby?” Ben asks, before suckling her whole pussy into his mouth, spearing his tongue into her. That should keep her quiet.

 

He hums in pleasure at her honeyed taste that he finds he’s missed having on his palate. His hands take the globes of her ass in each hand, spreading her open wider. Smirking with how she thrust her hips back into him for more. _Greedy girl._

He releases her from his mouth with a sloppy pop. Her arousal stringing to his lips.

 

“Kylo won’t hurt you, gorgeous. He’d rip men in half for so much as being rude to you. He never hurts what is his. And he won’t hurt me. That’s one perk of being his Twin. I’m _family_. I’m exempt from his raging warpath.” He chuckles. Lapping at her again. A squishing wet, sloshing noise echoes out as he fucks her with his long sinful tongue.

 

“Now. Be a good girl, simmer down and gimme some of that cum of yours I love _so_ fucking much.” He smirks. Nuzzling his nose and lips into her.

 

“I wanna feel your cream gush in my mouth, pour down my throat again.” He adds. Finding her clit and edging it in slow circles with the tip of his clever tongue. He simply couldn’t satisfy himself with just one taste. Just one fuck. He needs more.

 

“Can’t get enough of this delicious pussy, sweetie.” He moans. By now that was obvious to the both of them. He’d had it sat on his face half the evening and he hasn’t even come close to drinking his fill yet.

 

Then he’s dragging his plump mouth over her dripping sex. Just letting her drool down his chin. Soaking slick hot into his beard. He loves everything about it. His nose pressed so close to her, he gets that real, raw forbidden private scent that was _all woman. Bare, sweet, wet pussy._

He swallows down spit from how he salivates for her. Loving how her soft ass fit perfectly into his hands. She lets out a keen whimper, his licks slow their pace.

 

“Quiet now, baby. We don’t wanna wake the _beast_.” He smiles into her inner thighs. He loves this part of skin on his partner - male _or_ female - he loves how the delicate skin seems stretched so thin, almost to breaking point. And always tender soft, like butter, especially hers.

 

Needing more, He rises to his feet, boxers tenting his erection that is barely contained. His hands slip up her shirt and cups her tits. Loving how she shudders into his hands. Nipples like hard pebbles under his palms. _  
_

His mouth is at her neck again, watching the pair of them in the mirror _._ Watching her cheeks flush, and her eyes glaze over with the lust he’d ambushed her with.

 

“Seeings as my brothers so intent on keeping you all to himself. I better make the most of you while he’s not paying attention.” He whispers in her ear. Caressing her, plucking at her nipples and making her bite her lip to stem her noises.

 

“Does that excite you? Get you all wet thinking how he’s fast asleep just through that door. And I’m gonna be in here, fucking you _full_ of cum.” He promises. One hand slipping back, shoving his boxers to his knees and letting his well-endowed length smear precome against her ass. The hot slick of it trailing its salty path across her skin.

 

She can’t believe in her sorry bruised state - how her hips tilt back to brush against him. Hearing his groan when her soft ass meets his hardness.

 

She’s too open. Too vulnerable. It’s like he stabbed her nerves, pinned them out, and is toying with them to make her shiver. His eyes don’t leave hers in the mirror, she watches his hands roam her skin. Rolling lumps that run under her shirt.

 

“Let’s make the most of this, _huh?_ I wanna see those pretty tits bounce when I fuck you.” He explains, lifting her shirt off her. Still crowding her into the sink. He throws it away across his shoulder and it’s forgotten. His hands exploring her now naked body with renewed hunger.

 

“ _Fuck,_ Evie. You’re too _goddamn_ irresistible _.”_ He tells her, gripping his cock and plunging his thick head into her slick heat. She groans loudly.

 

He covers her mouth with one hand. The other bending her forwards at her lower back, keeping her in place as he rams into her. Sinking into her pussy, for him, is nothing short of heaven.

 

He loves the sight of her like this. His prim little librarian all _debauched_. Eyes hungry, with his cock stuffed deep in her greedy cunt. Her watery blue eyes looking pleadingly at him in the mirror. Face half hidden by his hand covering her lips. Smothering her squeals into his palm. Her brows stitched together in ecstasy.

 

It hurts when his plowing hips thrust her into the harsh press of the sinks edge. His sharp hips set a brutal pace battering her already sore sex. Slamming into her again and again. Letting her feel how he splits and stretched her open. In the small room of her muggy en-suite, and how they’re packed so tightly together, rubbing and grinding, their bodies soon become slick with sweat.

 

Ben’s hair is tacky on his forehead, and her body sheens in the foggy mirror. Her breath, where it could escape between the cracks of his thick fingers, marred the glass with every breath. Every moan that’s swallowed up into his palm.

 

Ben’s relentless, hickory eyes watch her in the mirror. Watches how she writhes and moves for him.

 

“You take me so well Kitten. _Fuck_. If you ever find yourself needing a cock to sit on baby, this divine pussy is always  welcome to a place in my lap.” He huffs into her ear. His stomach pinching in pleasure when he hears her sloppy sounds squish around his plunging cock.

 

He moans and watches how he sinks into her. Abandoning her mouth, and grabbing her ass in both hands and yanking her plump cheeks apart to see how she took him. He bites his lip watching. _So damn hot._

She simply oozes over his length. Her sweet cream coating his dick. Makes him want to get her on her knees and watch her lap it all away.

 

He looks back into the mirror, seeing she’s biting her lip to keep quiet. Her face in agony over it. He grasps her then and yanks her round. She slips off his long cock with a wet pop. She clenches around the disastrously empty space he left behind.

 

In no time at all, he’s then pressing her back into the wall beside the sink. Keeping her there, and hauling her thighs into his hands. Keeping his mitts cupping her outer thighs, and forcing her to string her arms around his neck to hold on tight.

 

Her head thuds into the wall, and Ben leans in to give the most filthy, tongue tangling, sloppy kiss she’s ever experienced. He curls up into her mouth and grins when she moans at how her taste is all over him. Cheeks, chin, nose. His entire lower face is ripe with her scent.

 

In this precarious position, Ben was literally holding her by the hips to fuck her onto his dick. Hoisting her up in his strong arms. And watching them where they’re joined. This sex position may aswell have _his_ name written all over it.

 

When he pulls back from sucking her lungs dry and making her belly flip, he nods down to where his hot, slick cock, rubs against her drooling cunt. Grinning, making her watch as he slowly pushes into her. Pulling her open wide.

 

“See how good we look together?” He leers. Snapping his hips and shoving in deep. She looks down to where his obscenely big cock rails into her. Hitting spots no other men ever had - save for his dark twin hours ago.

 

She tangles her fingers in his sweaty nape and lets herself get fucked senseless by this gorgeous hurricane of a man. They move and writhe until they’re a sweaty, slamming, moaning, trembling mess. Ben shuts her up with hungry kisses as he spurts his load deep in her pussy. She cums so much it drips down the inside of his legs.

 

He gives her a wolfish smile. Guiding her to the safety of the floor as he eats her out again. Mumbling how good they _taste_ together too.

In the next room however, Kylo had been awake ever since the first second she left his arms.

 

A curling smirk on his lips as he reflects on _how_ he might solve this little problem.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birdsong. He woke up the fluttering chirp of birdsong.

 

He hasn’t woken up to that gentle, kind sound since he can remember. Since he was a kid at least.

 

He can remember when dawn broke outside his bedroom window, when he was a teen. He’d listen to the day being heralded in by the chorus of sweet simple sound. Seeing the purple-pink of dawn bleach the sky of the clinging night. He’d always found it an annoyance - but today it feels peaceful.

 

It feels new. And so _fucking_ refreshing to the clamour and clang of cell doors and a bellowing wake up grunt from a sour-faced guard.

 

Easing into consciousness, he lets his eyes peel open and focus onto the cosy surroundings. A slanted cool dawn spills in from the window where a starry hot night had poured in only hours previously.

 

He turns his head, feather pillow crinkling under his head, seeing his Kitten slumbering soundly next to him. Facing him, hair messy, cheeks still tinged rosy. He lets his eyes roam over the thin blanket tucked around her curves. And he smiles.

 

The mighty, fearsome Kylo Ren, in all his wrath. Was smirking at the sight of the small woman next to him in bed. Curled up against his chest like, _ironically_ , a dozing kitten.

 

The soft purrs of her breathing he could hear as she slept. Her hands clasped in front of her. One under her pillow, the other resting crooked over her waist. He smirks wider in pride and longing when he reaches over and brushes her matted toffee-chestnut hair out the way, seeing the love bites carnally marking her shoulders and neck.

 

She wore his possession of her _so well_ on her pretty neck.

 

He lets his fingers and eyes caress her there. Skimming his fingertips against her soft warm skin. She groaned when he touched her. A breathy rumble that bubbles up from her throat.

 

And she _smiles_.

That hit him square in the stomach like a wrecking ball. It’s been so long since a woman smiled at his touch. Warmed to his hand. _Yearned_. Leaned into it. She was _nuzzling_ into the reach of his fingers when he cupped her cheek. Letting the backs of his fingers stroke her jaw.

 

Such a big brute bastard like him. Such a sweet small girl like her. It was Hades falling for Persephone all over again. The God of the underworld yearning for the Goddess of spring. An unlikely match.

 

He heard his interfering twin scarper from the scene earlier. Kylo felt a weight dip on the bed, and the wet pressing sound of one last kiss.

 

Behind closed eyelids he’d listened to them whisper;

 

“I’m gonna take my leave, gorgeous.” Ben told her. There was a rustling as he pulled on his clothes. Wrinkled from the floor no doubt, but he’d pay it no mind.

 

“ _Oh_.” She said, in shy dejection.

 

“It’s the middle of the night.” She points out sweetly.

 

“I got a boyfriend waiting on me at home, baby. Can’t keep him worrying.” He winks. Kylo just _knew_ , he would’ve winked at her.

 

He imagined his twin then must’ve nodded in Kylo’s slumbering direction, as it prompted him to say: “Kylo will stay.” He offers.

 

“I think he’d prefer not to see _me_ when he wakes.” He adds. There’s a clink as he does up his belt and a shriek of the pants zipper.

 

“Remember my offer, though babe. You’re ever on your own one might, and need a man to eat your pussy. If I’m not the first number you dial, I’ll be fucking _offended_.” He flirts. Kylo can hear his grin. Wants to roll his eyes - except he’s got to keep them shut.

 

“Thanks for the _great_ , great, fuck.” He said sincerely. The bed dipped as one knee bent to it. A smack of lips kissing cheek, hand or mouth. And then the mattress levels out again. “Truly, sensational baby.” He adds.

 

Whining of floorboards then comes over  from her bedroom door, posh designer soles scattering on the bare wood. A creak as his body twists back. Looking at her on the bed.

 

“Make sure he treats you right, sweetie. Come find me if things go sour.” He flirts inappropriately. Kylo heard him walk away.

 

“I’d have _that sweet ass_  of yours in a New York minute...” He calls loudly as he clatters down the stairs. The front door opens, and shuts, clanging to silence.

 

And then there were _two_.

 

He must’ve dropped off to sleep after that. Busy day and all - plus the whiskey made his blood slow and lazy. Next thing he remembers is _now_. Waking up to a bright dawn. And birds. And wafting breeze perfumed of lilac tickling his nose. Brushing his hands along Evie’s soft body. Such cosy-worn bedsheets wrapped around him.

 

Sheets that smelt of a green garden and fresh linen. He’s ebbed away into rest again. Watching how his big fingers rake through her hair. He lifts up, letting the silk of it comb past his thick digits. In the light, he watched the incoming sun of a new day turn it into spun fire. Picking up the slight rust hue of her hair. Hickory. Toffee. Cinder. And chestnut in those locks too.

 

She doesn’t stir - and he finds he can’t either. He lets his eyes drift closed. And tucks one big arm around her hip. Stroking her with his thumb. He is pulled back into rest. Peace.

 

Because when the hell was the last time he can ever remember feeling peaceful. Or calm? _Fucking_ n _ever_. Thats when. Maybe some foggy, hazy watercolour memories of it as a child. A few rose tinted snippets of time. But his early life had very few moments of happiness for a young boy like him to find, and to cling on too.

 

He’s lost to the world again. And when he opens his eyes another time, he blinks and finds a sunny window came into view soaking a splashing pool of yellow-gold onto her bedroom floor. Warming the worn rug that sat there. Outside is green and bright. That lilac tree thrashed on a keen wind.

 

The bed next to him is empty. The sheets rustled where his small bed mate had left them.

 

_Shame_. He rather wanted to spend all morning eating her out. Perhaps that would have to wait. 

 

The dip of her body in the blankets, Her faded perfume inhabited, lingering on in the groove on her pillow. He splays his arm out and feels the bedspread was still luke-warm to the touch. She’d not been gone long.

 

He shifts round onto his back, flopping back against the cocoon of blankets they’d inched over themselves in the night. Nefarious, marathon sex had left them with clammy, cooling bodies that demanded swathing in nearby blankets. He feels his hips click, his neck stretch, and his body is humming in delight and relief for the cosy, firm bed below him, that beat a metal bunk and a slither of shitty foam, any day.

 

He swings his legs over the bed, and lets his body acclimate to being awake. The covers pool at his waist. He’d slept nude and forgot how damn good it felt. Especially with a naked girl next to him within arms reach.

 

In fact, it felt _particularly_ _damned good_. Especially with _his_ nude girl next to him. Purring and stretched out like a kitten.

 

His bare feet touch to the tepid wood floor. The house was old, and the wood underfoot has buckled a while ago. It’s quirky. It suits her, this place. Well hemmed in with comforts, and antiques. He doesn’t understand the taste, but he does understand how it’s completely, _her_.

 

Memories, love, and warmth tethered to this place like anchors on ships. It’s in the vintage wallpaper, the buckled floors, and the beyond beloved way each room practically _hugs_ it’s occupant upon entry.

 

Her bedroom was no different. Dried flowers pressed in numerous frames, scattered on the wall. Taking up each inch on offer. Old photos of relatives enshrined there too. Her bed laden with lace ruffled bedspreads, throw pillows and an obscene amount of tasteful floral sheets. The old wooden furniture painted a shabby-chic white and chipped and rubbed with age. Lace curtains and an enamel jug of wildflowers, no doubt from her garden, decorating one windowsill. Each bloom catching the light and shivering in the mornings breeze.

 

He spots a slender glass of water, inching condensation to her bedside table. He smirks. _She was an angel._ He reaches for it and drains it dry. Three big gulps and it’s gone. Cold heaven pouring down his throat.

 

When he hears a soft ripple of water, his attention is turned to her en-suite. He sees the door is pressed ajar again. _No sounds of his twin fucking her_ _in it this time_ _. Thank_ _fuck_ _._ _  
_

He senses something else drifting on the air then. Something sickly like roses, tinged with a note of something else floral. Less sweet. More green. Something like geranium.

 

He stands, colossal thighs stretching into use. Striding for the door. Keeping the under-sheet from the bed knotted about his waist. Trailing to his ankles like a flowery, Pottery Barn, toga.

 

When he comes close to the en-suite, he feels muggy wet heat glide there abouts on the air. Rose and Geranium for sure. The scent of it is so strong now, it’s smacking him in the face, like a slap of stuffy, plant strangled air, from first walking into a greenhouse.

 

He smirks. He had a sneaky feeling he _knew_ what she up too in there, this time. And it was far more palatable for him than her earlier activities.

 

He didn’t blame her, it had to be said. He was stupid enough to tell Ben Solo he _couldn’t_ have something. Been that way since they were kids. It was never a safe utterance in denying him. Nothing was safe from his reaches - if he decided he was _horny_ enough for it. _  
_

 

He smiles and pushes open the creaking door. Seeing her half glowing little bathroom. The claw foot tub squeezed into the alcove of the wall opposite the sink. Shower curtain patterned with pink rosebuds, railed far to one side. The bath was filled. The air was steamy. And his small, pink little creature sat submerged in her tub. Looking _damn_ impossibly cute covered in suds and sheening wet with water. Swishing her toes around in the heat.

 

Toes tapping along to some invisible tune. Sponge in her hand. Squeezing water to trickle and splatter down over her arm as she idly lounged. He likes that he’s caught her unaware. She’s facing away from him after all - and he was good at not being heard when he wants to be. Her hair is messily knotted atop her head. Some wisps sticking down, tamped dark and curly to her wet skin.

 

His tall body and broad frame fill the door, he leans there with one hip. Arms crossed, smiling down at the sight of her.

 

“Room for two in there?” He drawls. His voice all husk and smoke at this time in the morning. A yummy baritone that makes her skin tingle.

 

She flinches in surprise and twists to face him. Water sloshing about her. He watches her peach coloured nipples and tits bobbing in the waterline. She brings her knees to her chest and sits up a little. Then, _oh then_ , she hair tucks.

 

“Morning. Oh _gosh_ -Hope I didn’t wake you... Did I?” She frets. Hooking both hands to the lip of the bath.

 

He steps closer and sinks to a crouch opposite her. Loving how she smelt like flowers. And was all entirely wet for him. Like some soaked little water nymph. Cheeky waif-like temptress, splashing, playful and beckoning and meant entirely to seduce him. With wet beading on her eyelashes and her ruddy pink cheeks, water trickling down between her breasts, she _sure_ as hell fits the bill as one.

 

_This was_ _his_   _Kittens charm. She didn’t know she was turning him on, even when she blatantly was._ _Completely_ _oblivious to_ _what she_ _does to him_ _._ _  
_

He strokes her cheek. As he did abed earlier. She tries to huddle up in on herself. Aware there was only scant bubbles and a cloudy soap of waters surface between her nakedness, and his eyes. She stops when he narrows his eyes and smirks.

 

“We’ve been over _that_...” He reprimands stiffly. She lets her limbs stay open, uncurled, where they are. Water clinking against the side of the bath.

 

“Needed a soak, did you kitten?” He asked with a somewhat restrained smile of pride. One brow kinks up.

 

“I used bath salts that are supposed to be good on, _sore_ muscles.” She explains shyly. Tucking the sponge back to the shelf on the side. Where she also had several thick wedges of speckled soap. A pile of flannels. A wooden long scrub brush, and a saucer and cup of tea, steaming away.

 

He smiles.

 

“Know what else is good on aching muscles?” He asks, coming to a stand. She tilts her head up. If he were any taller, she wouldn’t be able to talk to him easily.

 

She swallowed. Shaking her head. “What’s that?” She dares.

 

“Massage.” He answers.

 

His hand snatched for his hip, and he quickly drops the bedsheet to crumple to the floor. Her eyes remain on his face. And _doesn’t_ slip to the amply filled anatomy between his legs. At her eye level.

 

She had to admit the thought of those thick strong fingers kneading into her tired skin, made her sigh in wanting.

 

He tilts his head to her upwards. “Up, babydoll.” He demands.

 

She rises to her feet. He watches the water rush and drip off her. He wants to _lick_ away every drop. And then she’s standing there all pink, slippery-warm and naked. Sheening in beauty. Again, like Aphrodite emerging from the tepid salty sea in her clam shell.

 

She was every Goddess under the sun, to him this morning, so it seems.

 

He keeps his dark eyes on her face. And steps in the bath with her. Moving with feline grace, he sinks down and hauls her, face-to-face with him. In his lap. Her tub was ridiculously small, and he had to bend his knees. Filling almost all of it, but he gets them snuggled down, heaped as one, under the stinging hot water. It slapped and sloshed around them, and narrowly avoided the floor.

 

She bends her knees, and perches on his lap. Feeling his tensely packed muscles underneath her. Warm and wet, just starting to tinge pink. His hands secure themselves to her ass cheeks. And they can both feel how she’s sat, trapping his erection to his tummy.

 

Then his big hands slide up her back, and she both shivers, and _melts_. Her face furrowed in pleasure. Sighing with relief when his fingertips dig into her spine. He bobs harder under the water when she moans.

 

“That feels _so_ nice.” She whines.

 

“You feel _fucking nice.”_ He intones right back at her with a grin. Dark halo of hair brimming shade over his glittering eyes. That sparkles like starlight off dark black ocean. Wet skin sliding against wet hands so easily. He marvels at how her skin is so smooth.

 

He is careful around her tender neck. She gasps when he catches on a bruise. Soothing her with a kiss to the throat. Mopping sweet droplets of hot water with his lips. Letting them melt on his tongue.

 

“Sorry, Kitten.” He husks into her ear. Nuzzling his dry nose into her wet hairline at her ear. Shuttering his eyes as he sucks another drip away. Tasting her, and her perfume on his palate. She lets her hands hook over his shoulders. Curling into him gently as he caresses her. He watches her examine his tattoos with veiled interest.

 

He stops, and slides her hand down to just above his meaty pec, where she’d been staring so intently. He decides to indulge her.

 

“Touch me. Baby. I’m not made of _glass_.” He explains. Sliding his hand over hers. Pinning it to his body. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm. One cold nipple ring. Feel the heat of him raging by comparison. His other hand stays covering her fleshy wide hip.

 

She drops her eyes, looking where her hand was to see the flawlessly expensive designs, criss crossed over every inch of him. Strictly black - and sepia where his skin peeks through. No colours at all. She lets her eyes make out the dark artwork she can see on his chest.

 

His hands slid back to her hips and he watched her explore.

 

In old sailor style - a bleeding cupid-heart being pinched by a hand. Black scaled snakes, coiling around Geometric black shapes ringing his collarbone, surrounding a masterpiece of what looked like a 3D, shaded, demonic rendition of Michelangelo’s David, the bottom of it bleeding into a toothless realistic skull. The crushing hand one has a twin on his other pec. A hand holding a dying flower with petals raining off. Petals dripping blood. Blood. Skulls. Death. Snakes and angels morphing into demons.

 

She skims her fingertips over the Michelangelo one. Even though his dark taste was shades away from her own. She really _did_ find it beautiful on him. She loses herself in his skin. As he had done with her body, last night.

 

Kylo flickers his eyes down to see what she was so transfixed by. Her hand lingers on his pec. He smirks.

 

“That one alone, was $40,000.” He explains. Her eyes widen and her hand jerks off him as if it burned. As if she’d sully it by touching it. He chuckles.

 

This man was a walking, multi-million, _art_ exhibit.

 

“I had it done in Moscow when I was there. Took two weeks to complete.” He reminisces. “Other ones I picked up here, or about on my work travels. I got _the_ best guy on the east coat as my personal tattoo artist, over here.” He tells.

 

Her curious fingers then splay over the bump of his neck scar. The one that reached from forehead to shoulder. The one the gang in prison marked him with.

 

“You already know how I got that. _Finch_ loved warning people off me with that story.” He says with grit teeth.

 

“Made me feel like I was a untamed _beast_.” He spits. That’s how his mother-fucking shrink made him feel for four years. Was it a wonder his sharp temper was the first thing people saw to him. Never looking past that. His dark demeanour all but solidified it.

 

She cups her hand over the space where his heart is. Or where he supposed it should be. She feels it’s rhythm bump her hand. This was a _man’s_ heart. Not a monster. Nor a beast.

 

“Well. If it’s of _any_ consolation, I don’t agree with him. And I think you’re well shot of him now.” She heralds sweetly. Smiling gently at him. He smirks at her cute smile. Couldn’t resist it.

 

“I couldn’t be _more_ glad of it” He accepts. Which was true. He counted every second as bliss that the ugly son-of-a-bitch was out his life. Slipping his hands around he copped a feel of her ass. Taking it all into his hands.

 

She reaches out and strokes his damp hair. Waves of it falling around his gorgeous face. She cups his jaw in her hand and feels his growing stubble there prick at her palm.

 

“I _really_ don’t think you’re a beast at all Kylo.” She tells him seriously. Hating how Finch had verbally tried to batter the big man down for years.

 

His eyes turn hard for a second. The black glittery ocean from earlier, frosting over with frigid arctic ice.

 

“You’d get a glimpse, if anyone ever _dares_ try and hurt you.” He tells sternly.

 

“You’re _mine_ , Kitten. That much I made clear. I always protect what is mine, from harm.” He tells. Squeezing her closer so their chests almost touched. Noses pressed together. His hand became anchors on her body. Clamps digging in, as a reminder.

 

She nods. Not scared by his stiff voice. Already acclimated to the lengths he’d go to keep her safe. What’s _worrying_ was that it didn’t shock or scare her. She. Almost expected it.

 

Her answer is to lean in and gently peck a kiss to his cheek. Huddling into his chest. Letting the press of her wet body try and soothe his bitter mood.

 

Meanwhile, he was sat there, swearing a silent vow to himself as he hugs her tighter. _Nothing, and no one, will ever bring her harm so long as he breathes_. _She was his possession. His to guard. His to satisfy._ _  
_

_“_ Might I offer you a massage in return? Your shoulders feel awfully tense...” She offers. He grins.

 

“Go right ahead.” He answers. Stroking her jaw with one finger.

 

She leans up and reaches over him for the soap, on the shelf over his shoulder. Raising up on her knees, she didn’t notice how this brought her tits swaying into his face. Made evident, when he leans in and sucks the water off them. Playfully tonguing her nipple and smirking.

 

She gasps for the side of the bath, and the other hand cupping the nape of his neck to keep herself steady. His other hand disappears under the cloudy, milky white of the soapy water to pluck at her clit.

 

She gasps and arches to look down at him , blissed out sensations panging like curling hot coils of desire, shooting right through her. His big knuckles rubbed at her pussy, and his smirk is as devilish as some of his more demonic tattoos.

 

“I never said I was done playing _yet_. _Kitten_.” He smirks, lapping at her nipple. Sucking and catching water on his tongue.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They fooled around for a while in the bath. He didn’t exactly have the ideal ample space to move around, so, he impaled her on his stiff cock and made her ride him.

 

Determined to outdo his Twin. He didn’t let her off his cock till she came _three_ times. With Ben, judging by her moans, she’d only cum twice. He’d rectify that sad tally. 

 

His shy kitten was soon bouncing in ecstasy on his cock, cumming like a champ. His teeth tugging her nipples as he pounded her senseless - yet again. Obscene slaps of the water smacking around the room.

 

They got out after cleaning off with her cakes of handmade, dried flower studded soap. The fun he had passing soapy hands all across her tits and ass was almost unreal. She dries off with wobbly legs, and wraps herself up in a stunning blue silk gown. Pottering away with pink cheeks, down into the kitchen. She shyly mumbles something about coffee. He smiles and smacks her ass as she goes.

 

He stays in the bedroom. Pulling on his clothes that she neatly folded across the end of the bed. They’d left quite the breadcrumb trail through her house the night before. He tugs on his coat as he heads down the stairs. Figuring he’ll disappear out of her way.

 

He had a neglected house, high up in the hills to get back too. Ben had been looking after it from time to time. God only _knows_ what state he’d find it in. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if he returned home to find a pile of ash left for him.

He folds the collar of his pea coat up at the back of his neck as he comes to the last step. Huffing in annoyance when he saw Ben’s little parting gift on the side dresser in her hall - a bottle of Dom Pérignon, the neck of which was draped in her ruined white panties.

 

He rolls his eyes, and his big body lumbers for the door. He looked through to the kitchen in his passing. Phone in hand, ready to catch an Uber home. He wouldn’t bother with a goodbye. It hardly seemed necessary.

 

He’s almost at the front door, and out of it. Feet on the doormat, ready to go-

 

When sees _two_ places being set by her at the cosy dining table across the kitchen. The round thing drenched in sunny warmth from the window as she had her back to him, arranging cutlery to flank beside two Luxembourg patterned, white and blue china plates.

 

The places were set opposite each other on the circular table. She fluffs up the small bunch of - hand picked - wildflowers that nestled in her granny’s chipped spode blue, cream jug. the antique thing brimming with Peonies. Small daisy’s. Stalks of lavender and two hyacinths.

 

She turns back around to reach for her coffee pot, smiling wider when she sees him lurking in the kitchen doorway. Reaching for two mugs off the hook of her dresser.

 

Then her face falls when she sees he had his coat on.

 

“You’re not staying for breakfast?” She asks him. Voice shy and verging on an upset tone. Her cute brow all furrowed and taut with worry. Her thumb fidgets on the handle of the pot in her hands.

 

He’d upset her hopes.

 

He blinks a couple times, before reaching back and shrugging off it coat. Pegging it up on the stand. Leaving him in his Tom Ford button down and suit trousers. Polished boots on his feet. He strides across the kitchen and her smile grows back. He leans over and placates her with a sweet kiss to the neck.

 

Her beaming smile grows back. He admires the way she’s pinned her hair back off her face. Shining like honey, chestnut and rust in the warm light of her merry little kitchen. Petite ballet slippers on her feet, she is in nothing but her dressing gown tied right across her nimble waist. Showing him the stretch of her curves. How her elegant body flared and dipped. She truly was a gorgeous sight like this. How she didn’t know it, drove him fucking insane.

 

He eased down into the wooden farmhouse chair. Tied to the seat was a little stripy cushion to soften his fall. In no time at all, she’s whisked a coffee mug, with a cute Latin named, anatomical picture of a bee on it, and had poured him a generous glug of dark hickory coffee. Her own cup opposite his steamed with a taupe, milky breakfast tea. He could smell notes of it brewing in the air.

 

“I can’t promise my coffee comes up to your Italian espresso standard. But I’ve rarely had complaints.” She smiles.

 

Drawing back, she rounds to the stove across from them. He turned his head and caught a wafting scent and something sizzling in the two iron skillets she had on her gas range. Something sweet. And then something salty. It tantalised his stomach. If it growled and complained much more it was at risk of trying to crawl out of his body, in wanting of whatever glorious thing she had cooking.

 

He sat there astounded, the cup of coffee warming his hands. He sips it. It wasn’t as strong as he cared for. But it was damn good. Spiced with lashings of cinnamon and chicory. Her own blend. He smiles at the taste. Draining half a cup before he knows it

 

He _can’t_ pin point back to the last time someone cooked breakfast _for him_. Much less laid the table with flowers, and the earnestly sweet intention of having and enjoying a meal with him.

 

Of course, there were the couple of exes drifting somewhere in the back of his mind. But they weren’t exactly what he’d deem as homely.

 

_Cosmetic_. Not _Domestic_.

 

They were money-grabbing, wannabe Insta models and socialites. More concerned with him forking out for the latest Versace dress for them to wear, to the newest, most expensive Michelin star restaurant they wanted to eat, and be _seen_ at. Or they’d throw a strop with him. They’d wanted no more than to hang off his arm like baubles. Be his cock warmer, so long as he shelled out plenty from his wallet. He’d had to chuck one because she wanted him to pay for ass fillers. And the other had at least _three_ rich men on the go, feeding her Louis Vuitton purses, and drug addictions.

 

_Evie was worth ten-thousand of such trashy, shallow girls._ _  
_

It makes him _want_ to desperately to spoil the ever-living _fuck_ out of her. Cause she was so much more worthy, deserving, of his time and money. She wasn’t taking him to bed for what she could get out of him. She took let him in her bed for him as a _whole_.

 

That thought strikes him like _fucking_ lightning.

 

The girls he dated before aren’t like his Kitten. Much to his relief. The last person he has a vague recollection cooking breakfast for him, was his _mother_. Or grandma.

 

Cooking breakfast for her twins on very rare occasions. Birthdays maybe, or one of the very few days she wasn’t working, if she took it off to spend at home. They woke up to bacon, scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed OJ. His grandma was more the mothering type to him and Ben. She fed them sugary cereals and chocolate milk every chance they had to stay over at hers. Always snuck them wrapped sweets from her cardigan pockets.

 

He watched her flip some things onto two plates and bring them over. A great wave of incredible smelling food coming with her. She places an incredible pile of food before him. Pancakes, bacon, and sunny side up, fried eggs. He sees there’s much more piled on his, than hers. She’d given him _extra_ bacon _and_ two eggs. He looks up to her with a glad expression of mirth on his face.

 

“I have some berries in the fridge. Grew them myself in the greenhouse. And the eggs are fresh too. Laid just yesterday by my very fickle flock of chickens.” She says.

 

“You have chickens?” He asks.

 

“I do. Outback. And befittingly, they are all named after Jane Austen heroines.” She beams shyly. placing the syrup jug down beside him.

 

Before going for the fridge behind him. Bringing back a heaped high bowl of blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and cranberries. The homegrown fruit she spoke of. She pauses and spoons some into his pancakes for him. Sucking some juice off her thumb. Standing the fruit bowl down

 

He thanks her with a solid pat to her ass, before he then brings her sideways across his big lap and thanks her even more with a toe curling kiss that makes her sink her hands into his hair. Hungry and urgent.

 

“Looks amazing, Kitten.” He lets out gladly when he breaks away and nips at her lip with his sharp teeth. She basks in his lap with pleasure.

 

“Even the coffee?” She asks in amazement. Sliding off him and sitting herself down in the seat opposite. Folding a napkin in her lap. She thought a big intense guy like him would turn his nose up at her sweet, lightly spiced blend. She pops a strawberry on her tongue and he _so_ badly wants to chase its tart, sugary taste. He sips coffee instead. Hunched forwards in his chair.

 

Not dissimilar to how they looked when they first _met_ , as a matter of fact. Except here, there are no shackles. And no one loitering over their conversation - calling time on it. They have all the time they want for each other. And Evie feels how that warms her tummy through to her backbone.

 

“ _Especially_ the coffee. Robust and warm.” He explains. He finds he likes it. He drains another cup and goes back for more.

 

She pinks a little at his praise. Before grabbing a fork and digging in herself. He stabs some bacon into his fork and takes a greedy mouthful of all of the things she’s cooked for him. Comes as no shock that everything tastes perfect.

 

“Who taught you to cook?” He asks out of interest.

 

“My gran was the cook. My mother was the gardener. I’m a healthy mix of two influences.” She beams. Sipping her tea. And she was, beaming.

 

He can’t lay aside how domiciliary this all is. The slope of sunshine twirling dust mites in the air onto the table. Catching the steaming coffee cups. The sunlight warming both their faces. The way the sash window next to them is open, and scents of her garden spills in. The way the light looks on her hair and lips as they smile and make easy conversation.

 

Last night’s event could have easily made her more shy, and awkward. But it _didn’t_. She looked more irresistible to him this morning - love bruised, blissed out and dressed in a gown - than she _ever had_ looked to him.

 

He doesn’t know _what_ he feels, sat eating breakfast at her dining table, in her cosy warm farmhouse kitchen. When the foods finished, they push plates and cutlery away in a messy stack, and they just talk. About everything and nothing. He sinks at least three cups of coffee as they chatter. He makes her laugh. A beautiful sound. He’d never heard it before.

 

It’s all so easy - _insultingly_ easy. And he can’t believe it’s _this_ easy to just talk to her about her home, her family. He’d never wanted to bother talking to the bimbos he’d dated before. They’d never had intelligent conversation. Just listened to them whine and bitch about how he was so difficult to please. Or how they were fat. Or how they needed lip fillers.

 

One of them had once gotten high and turned up on his doorstep like a mess, and railed, yelled at him, stumbling around in her ridiculous heels. She threw things, smashed things, it was ugly. Screeching at him that he was a fucked up mess. Didn’t care about anyone but himself. That stung it’s wound deep. Never forgetting how she made him feel that night. It made him vow to try and find someone, _good_. Not someone rotten liked her. He impolitely told her to get the fuck out of his life after that. Last he heard she was a reformed trophy wife to some poor bastard, booking into the Betty Ford clinic.

 

As they natter, he lets out a little about himself. Mostly about how his family weren’t so inclined towards being kind and domestically capable. Ben was about as capable as a broken clock. He had a workaholic mother who worked three jobs. And a father who was a stranger, even when he was home. Always off, overseas.

 

He can see now, why she’s stayed so comfy. So _strung_ to home, when her home was as nice as this one. Jane Austen named chickens out back. A vegetable garden. Enough flowering plants in bloom in the gardens, to sink the titanic. A house stuffed full of cosy furnishing and shabby-chic antiques. Anyone would be a _fool_ not to settle for this cushy, safe lifestyle.

 

Anyone would be a fool not to settle for her. _He would be a fool not too._

 

Kylo starts feeling things then, that he never suspected he had the capacity too. She calmed him. Made him feel, for the first time in four years, _hopeful_. It was so peaceful, this intimate moment they shared. It was more intimate than fucking - for him. Because she’s devoted time and energy to him. And that was an awfully rare thing for people to do.

 

Sat with her, eating breakfast, he feels strange. Because he knows he’s coming to see her as so much than his pretty, little fuck-toy. She was becoming an obsession. A fixation. _An addiction._ _M_ _ore_ _s_ _o now,_ _t_ _han ever before_ _._ _  
_

He finished his coffee, and helped heap plates into the sink. Just as the Uber he’s ordered rolls up the drive and honks. She steps out into the sun-filled porch, showing him to the door. The scent of sunshine and moist, dark dense greenery surrounding them, ebbing in from the woods.

 

He pulls on his coat for real this time. Stood patting down his pockets for his wallet and house keys. It felt odd to think he was now going home. Home to his cold, dark, echoing empty, most likely _trashed_ house. Thanks to the incompetence of his awful house sitter.

 

Might just go the whole hog and burn the place down himself. Save himself some ball ache and trouble.

 

He looks back to his Kitten, stood demurely with her arms folded behind her back as she leans against the front door frame. The sun tangling in her hair and on her silk gown. Once more the goddess of spring is back.

 

He hooks his hand between her ass and the door, and levies her into his chest. Hauling her up for a kiss. Shoving his tongue down her throat, making her squeak and blush again.

 

The Uber driver is probably fidgeting with impatience. But Kylo couldn’t give less of a shit - let them wait. He had some kissing to do.

 

When he pulls back, she whines needily. Her hands curling under his coat, feeling his hard, soft chest through his crisp shirt.

 

“By the way, what your ex said to you about what you’re like _in_ bed?” He smirks.

 

“He’s, in my opinion, completely _fucking_ _wrong_.” He growls at her. Squeezing her ass in both hands. Loving how her small hands unknowingly rubbed friction against his nipple rings. Making him bite his lip. Lust squirming at his stomach.

 

“Be seeing you around, Kitten.” He departs with one last hot kiss to her lips. Then she watches her big tattooed ex-convict stride away. Off into the sunny morning.

 

She watches the car leave. Remarking to herself how at one time, or another, she dreaded him being released. _But now?_ She’s never been more _mistaken_ about anything in her life to date.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thots? Thirsts? Hmu now. Don’t be shy.


	19. Confidence & Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end part of this is steamyyyy. And a lil bit romantic. Did someone say sticky hot Evie x Kylo quickie? 
> 
> No? Oh well. 
> 
> But do please enjoy the marvels of the wondrous Flo Bernstein for now...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flo’s house was such a picture of southern hospitality, and charm, it should’ve been pasted on a postcard for the gallant pastoral south.

 

Flo and her husband Arthur bought the run down farmhouse, on a desolate acre of overgrown weeds for a few hundred dollars back in the 70’s, and they’d since turned it around into their dream home. Extended it to be a big farmhouse, and had it stuffed to the seams. Always busy with family, cooking food, pets, noise, and love.

 

Kindness and homeyness permeated every nook, and every cranny of that big, wooden house. Everyone who stepped on those porch steps was welcomed in like family. Gathered into the open arms of the Bernstein family as if they were one of their very own.

 

The old, off white, colonial farmhouse had everything. It truly was a dream house. Pristine charcoal shutters on the sash windows, rocking chairs on the wrap around porch. A swing. Hung off the branch of the massive angel oak trees, in the garden, which spread their leafy and green canopy to cover all over the house. Sheltering it. Right down the the lazy old Hound dog resting in the sunbeams on the porch. A pile of rusty furry red. Their old faithful bloodhound Buster snores lazily at the door, as he always did. 

 

An apple pie, July 4th, true style colonial American home.

 

The house now nestled happily in a masterpiece of a garden, trimmed and manicured to perfection by Arthur’s keen green hands. Where the outdoors were his domain, Flo had the run of the whole house. She’d filled the place with their children, and grandchildren, great grandchildren. Nieces, nephews, her three sisters, two brothers, and everyone she could get her hands on. Their house burst at the seams. Along with twelve budgies. Three cats. Four dogs, eighteen fish, and a horse and several cow’s in the field far outback.

 

Arthur and Flo lived a full, kind life. They never turned anyone away, and they loved earnestly with their whole hearts.

 

Flo had been known to hook in people less fortunate than themselves at all times. A home packed to burst, and she still offered meals and a bed and board to those in town who were down and out. Last thanksgiving she’d not taken _any_ prisoners and even had all of the local homeless sat at her dinner table that the shelter couldn’t take. She gave them clothes, a bath, and a banquet of a hot meal. Even helped them find work after the holidays were over - she knew everyone and everyone knew her.

 

Even in her frail old age of 88, she was not to be messed with. No one says ‘ _No_ ’ to Flo Bernstein.

 

Today, sticky and sunny as it was, drenched the house in speckles of sunlight that chipped through the trees. There’s not even a breath of wind on the air. A truly typical sticky summers afternoon. The air stifling, hot with the smell of sickly jasmine, freshly mowed lawn, green, Sharp and muggy. From the house a buttery pastry smell poured out the open windows and the front door.

 

As Evie pulled up in her car, she smiles merely at the sight of the busy, loving house before her. Two raucous great-grandkids, boys, were playing with a football on the lawn. Another, a girl, sat swinging on the suspended rope tree swing. Her pink dress swayed like pink flower petals, on her movements. She can also see Arthur, pottering around his flower beds in his gardening hat, and raggedy trousers, shears in hand as he trimmed back an unruly shrub.

 

She smiles watching the busy house as relatives come and go from Flo’s kitchen. Carrying heaped bowls of food over to the long stretch of rickety set tables set on the lush emerald lawn. Too many chairs to count crammed around the table, laid with a daisy stitched table runner. And citrus candles in mason jars burned to keep the insects away. There were far too many people to cram into the small dining room today.

 

Evie’s glad of it. She needs a distraction. This week if she wasn’t baking, or gardening, washing or cleaning, or out canvassing for a new job. She was finding other ways to keep busy.

 

Keeping distracted so her thoughts wouldn’t double back to _him_.

 

It had been a whole week since the infamous night in question. And she hadn’t heard a peep. So she scrubbed her porch, or indexed her cookery books, or spent hours pruning weeds from her veggie patch. Anything to not think about the possible loneliness or sting of rejection she was sure there was to come.

 

_“Be seeing you around, Kitten.”_ Those were his final parting words to her. How she’s turned those over and over in her head like a demented broken record. She didn’t know _how_ to decipher his speech. Was she supposed to contact him? She’d no phone number, no address. Was it down to her? Or him? She was agony over trying to decide what was what. And what she should do next.

 

So she’d been only all too glad to accept an invite over to Flo’s for lunch on what was to be an otherwise lonely Saturday. She’d made two enormous peach pies, a cherry cobbler, and three thick mushroom and bacon quiches to boot.

 

She hauls her cooking off the backseat, and smiles when the three grandkids came charging over to greet her. Full of beans, all three of them envelope her in a crushing hug. Clamouring her name. Pinning their little arms around her waist. Daisy, Eddy and Zack. Some of her biggest fans. She greets each of them in turn.

 

“You’ve grown up so big since I’ve last seen you guys.” She smiles merrily down at them. Hugging them back. The boys fight over who gets to take the peach pies into the kitchen. She gives them one China pie dish each and thanks her strong helpers. Daisy slips her hand into Evie’s and drags her across the front lawn and up onto the porch. Evie nearly walks out her strappy silver sandals.

 

It was too sticky hot to wear something that wasn’t airy. She’d decided on her plainly simple blush pink, wrap around chiffon dress. Ending mid thigh, trimmed with ruffles down the front, and the hem. The sleeves were flowy, floaty. Ending at her elbows. It was almost sheer on the sleeves and trims, when the sun shone on it. Turned it into a gauzy, foam pink.

 

It was dotted with polka dots and swirled with flowers. The trims differed between the two patterns. Stitched like a gauzy sheer patchwork quilt of roses and dots. It was one of her fancier summer dresses, one she’d bought years ago. She didn’t exactly budget herself for new dresses very often.

 

She took the time to make herself prettily presentable today. A slip of rose pink on her lips. Mascara fluttered on her eyelashes. Blush powdered across her cheeks. A silver bracelet that was once her grandma’s, clinked about on her wrist. Her hair she’d left loose, it’s short toffee caramel waves framing her smiling face. Tucked behind her ears, making her simple jewelled silver earrings there, catch the sparse light.

 

Daisy drags her to the porch, hollering into the house in her tiny shout for her mom, and grandma Flo. Evie lets herself through the screen door, pushing it open for the both of them. Daisy asks excitedly if she’d braid her hair in that fancy way she had done last time.

 

Evie lets the excited girl lead her through the Knick knack cluttered, yet unceasingly tidy house. They come to the sunny, cream tiled and wood kitchen. The middle island swathed with bowls and cooking in progress from the heavily pregnant, middle aged woman in an apron and her spitfire of a mother next to her.

 

“Daisy! Let Evie breathe...” May says with a sigh rolling out her smile, as she layered pastry over the top of one of the pot pies. Daisy’s colouring came from the dazzlingly maternal blonde. May, who was Flo’s youngest daughter. Close to age in Evie. The family lived two states away. But never missed Saturday lunch.

 

“It’s quite alright, May. How are you doing?” Evie asks with warm, smiling sympathy, steering Daisy into the bar stool to help Flo take some fresh baked flaky biscuits off a baking tray.

 

She sets her brought cooking down beside the other bowls and plates heaped full of it. May was eight months and three weeks and about ready to burst any day now.

 

“Very pregnant.” She grumbles a smile in response. Placing a hand to her aching back.

 

“I tried to get her to sit down. But would she listen to me?” Flo asks Evie. Before tugging the woman in for a kiss and a hug. And her staple greeting of “ _Hey, there. Sugar.”_

 

“Wonder where she gets _that_ from.” Evie teases genially. Digging in, she lifts her quiche out of its bowl, and lays it onto a waiting plate. Daisy giggles. Showing off her gap grin where she lost a tooth a while back. Evie reaches over and rights Daisy’s little hair bow that had come askew.

 

“I dread to ask, but, Can I help with anything? May you should definitely be in a chair with your feet up, and a cold drink in hand, in _this_ heat.” Evie suggests softly. Moving across to tie one of Flo’s spare waist apron around her waist. Blue. Frilly. Trimmed with yellow and red flowers.

 

May huffs a wisp of blonde hair out her face and wiped her hands on the cloth beside where she was rolling out shortcrust pastry.

 

“But I’ve g-“ she pauses and reflects. “You’re sure you _don’t_ mind?” She asks. Breathy with exertion and red cheeked. “I wouldn’t say no to resting my back for a little while.” She winces. Rubbing at the sore spot.

 

Flo eyes her daughter sharply. “Get going honey. I’ll be out there with a glass of lemonade soon.” Flo warns with her infamous piercing stare.

 

May smiles and kisses Evie on the cheek. “You’re a treasure.” She smiles as she waddles past. Taking off her apron. She sticks her hand out for Daisy to grab. “Come on sweets. Lets go find Grandpa.” She grins, ushering her sweet ball of energy out of the kitchen.

 

Evie takes over on the pastry. And Flo zips close to her when May and Daisy leave the kitchen.

 

“You are holding out on me. Winslow. And so help me lord. If you don’t open up about those damn hickies all over your neck, and _who_ put them there, I might just throw you out a _damn_ window. You can _pick_ the window. But that’s how it’s gonna be unless you start spillin’ me some _deet’s_.” Flo ushers lowly at her. One shrivelled, pale hand on her hip. The other on the counter, boxing Evie into the sink as she started to peel and wash the corn.

 

She was beet red now. Self consciously her fingers brushing against her curtain of hair hiding her slightly bruised neck from prying eyes. She’d forgotten rule two; _nothing_ gets past Flo Bernstein.

 

Something like a sigh mixed with a laugh falls out her mouth. She hair tucks and finishes stripping off the corn. Wiping dirty hands on her apron. By this point, Flo had gone to the fridge and poured two gigantic glasses of white wine.

 

“Don’t like drinkin’ in front of May. It gets her all antsy. Poor girl. I couldn’t last a day without my wine now. Lord knows how I had five babies all those damn years ago.” She mumbles to herself as she pours and pours. Her measurements were famously generous.

 

“Well. I suppose it started-“ Evie begins shyly.

 

Flo shoves a glass of wine in her hands, and crooks a finger at her friend. Her short, elderly frame shuffled through her house, back out to the front porch. She swings the screen door open and Evie can see she is being herded towards the rocking chairs. Flo pats the lazy lump of Buster as she goes, his tail lazily wags at her.

 

As they leave the house, Evie rolls her eyes as Flo sets a Blossom Dearie Jazz record spinning on her ancient turntable. To twinkle her crooning song out the window. And mask their conversation from the kids and family to the side of the house.

 

She smiles as Flo eases them down and starts creaking back in the chair, setting it to rock as they sip wine.

 

“Now.” Flo clears her throat. “From the top. And don’t you _dare_ leave any of the dirty parts out.” Flo leers at her.

 

“ _Well_. I went out on the date with Ben. The one who sent flowers. It was very nice. Goodnight kiss at the door. Very genial and sweet.”

 

“But...” Flo coaxes.

 

“His brother was released from prison last week.” Evie says. Nervously biting her lip.

 

Flo’s brows rose. A filthy smile stretched her lips. “ _Holy_ hell. That’s the one I’m assuming?....” She peters out, pointing towards Evie’s neck.

 

Evie blushes and nods gently.

 

“What’s he _like_?” She seeks keenly. “Only That bossy boots, motor mouth neighbour of yours, Mrs Hobbs, says she was taking a constitutional last week. And saw a very dashing, tall man covered in tattoos, shove his tongue down your throat on the front porch.” Flo grins.

 

“And I’ll be damned if I get a piece of news second to that _old_ frumpy biddy.” She barks.

 

Evie laughs. She was such a spitfire. A nosy one. But a spitfire nonetheless.

 

“He is, very tall. And big. And yes, he has a lot of tattoos. Dark hair and he’s-just...” Evie shrugs picking at the rim of her wineglass as she looked down into her lap.

 

“He’s _the_ most gorgeous looking man I’ve ever met.” She tells honestly.

 

Flo chuckled. “ _Oh_ , honey. I meant what’s he like, in the _bedroom_.” She winks.

 

Evie splutters. And wine drips down her chin. She nearly chokes on it.

 

“ _Flo!_ ” Evie gasps in shock. Chiding her elderly friend.

 

“Thorough, I’m guessing.” She adds. Evie shuts her eyes and shakes her head. But she can’t wipe off her smile.

 

The two ladies rock in silence for a minute. Listening to Blossom. Smelling the food simmering away in the oven. Mixed with hot air perfumed with Arthur’s flowering garden. Magnolias and jasmine. They listened to crickets creak. And the clamour of Flo’s big family out back. Setting the table. Bringing out plates upon plates of heaped food to the table. Lunch was being served soon.

 

“You look _sad_ , sweetie.” Flo remarks.

 

Evie chews the inside of her lower lip. “Maybe. I don’t know. Haven’t heard from him. And- perhaps...” she shrugs. Leaving it there. His face swimming in her mind makes her body ache.

 

She takes stock of the funny grey pit furrowing in her stomach. _Does she miss him?_ _  
_

_“_ If he’s been around you for more than five minutes, and can’t figure out what a lovely girl you are, and what a lucky man he could be to have ya, then he’s the fool, Evie. And you’d be _well rid_ of him.” Flo presses seriously. Seeing her quiet, shy friend needed bucking up.

 

She lifts her wine to her mouth. “No matter how good he was in bed. No man is worth _any_ measurable thing, if can leave you like that, or with a sore heart.” Flo tells her.

 

Evie nods. But a spark of hope flickered in her gut. She hopes very sincerely that Flo was wrong. That Kylo would show up again. She really did.

 

“I better go finish that corn. Lunch won’t make itself.” She explains with pink cheeks. Walking back into the kitchen. She occupies herself with tasks to keep her mind busy, once again.

 

Every now and then Flo tried to catch her eye as she helps May with the hot spicy chicken wings. Evie lets herself smile and get roped into playing with the grandkids. Letting herself forget.

 

Even if just for this sunny, glorious afternoon with her second family. She wouldn’t let Flo coax out her biggest fear: that she was scared of loving the wrong man and being left alone, _again_.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flo and Arthur always put out a great spread. Platter after platter of Parmesan chicken, and spicy wings. Corn bread. Rice and beans. Biscuits, chicken pot pie and Flo’s famous smothered pork chops. Everyone digs in, drinks, laughs and spends quality family time with one another.

 

Blossom Dearie from Flo’s record player is still drifting across the lawn. Birds tweet overhead. Clinking of cutlery hitting crockery and laughter can be heard as everyone tucks in. Evie is next to Arthur at the head of the table. Daisy desperately clamoured to be on her other side. They are sharing biscuits, and Evie is smiling and chatting away to Arthur about her new tomato crops this year.

 

May leans over to her mother, from  opposite the table. Speaking in hushed tones.

 

“Is Evie alright, ma? She seem ok to you? She seems _awful_ distracted. Like she’s trying to keep busy to keep from _thinking_.” May admits as they watch her talk to Grandpa, in-between buttering a big wedge of corn bread for her and Daisy.

 

Flo picks up her wine and smiles meekly at her daughter. Before she too, turns to look at her friend.

 

“I think she’s smitten with someone. Only she doesn’t quite know if he’s, _there_ , for her yet.” Flo explains.

 

May looked surprised. “I mean I’d heard the rumour around town. But I didn’t know she had a guy...”

 

“I think it’s fairly recent.” Flo winks knowingly at her eldest daughter.

 

“She hasn’t been with someone in _so_ long. Poor girl must be lonely, and now that thing with her job.” May says with sympathy. She’d never be so bold as to say this to Evie’s face. As their dearest friend wouldn’t like to think she was a pity case. And they didn’t pity her. They loved her.

 

“It’s odd to see her like this. And I don’t want to see her heartbroken again. If that no good son of a-“

 

“ _Mom_.” May chides.

 

“Well. If he doesn’t do the deed and return her feelings. I’m gonna beat the damn tar outta the stupid guy.” Flo promises. “Our girl _needs_ a man. Someone _good_. Someone who won’t take her kindness for granted.” Flo insists.

 

“He rode her like a dime store pony and now she’s trying not to make it look like she’s waitin’ for his call.” Flo tells.

 

May nudges her mother in false disgust. Unable to help laughing.

 

“ _What?_ ” Flo asks offhandedly.

 

“You and your dustbin thoughts.” May chides.

 

May nods. “Besides. I would’ve thought you’d have stuck your nose in, by now, and set her up with a man.” May says, sipping on her lemonade.

 

“All the eligible men I know ain’t good enough. Plus most of them are ugly. _No_. She needs to find her own dashing stranger. One who falls for her quiet charms.”

 

“Well. From the sounds of things, circulating around town. She caught _quite_ a looker.” May intones.

 

Flo leans in and clutches her daughters hand. “Tell me what you know.” She says, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Mrs Hobbs was spreading it around like wildfire. Six foot four guy on her porch. She said he looked rich. Dangerous. And was covered in tattoos.” May spills.

 

Flo raised a brow. “I never thought she’d be the kind of a gal to land a dark and dangerous type. Her exes have all been safe, city guys.”

 

“Apparently he didn’t look very _safe_ to Mrs. H.” May declares.

 

Flo says with a deadpan expression, sipping her wine; “ _Any_ Guy walking down the street, looks threatening to that woman. She’s a paranoid crazy cat lady.” She tells seriously.

 

“Evie deserves someone. She does. All alone in that house after her ma, and her grandma died. It’s almost sad that someone so nice, is so lonely.” May admits. “I know she comes over and spends time with our crazy relatives. I just worry about her, is all.”

 

“Me too.” Flo admits. “Before Win died, she promised me to watch over Evie. I told my best friend she didn’t even have to ask me that. Of _course_ I would...” Flo tells.

 

“I know. You still miss her sometimes, huh?” May says. Stroking her dear mothers hand as she spoke fondly of her lost friend.

 

“I miss that stubborn old girl like crazy some days. When the wind blows right...” she chuckles.

 

“If I hear her favourite oldie song on the radio. Or eat a slice of pecan pie. If someone I see on the street wears the same shoes she used too. I’m reminded of her _every_ day.” Flo says. Winnifred Winslow, and Flo Bernstein were as thick as thieves in their youth. Cemented as firm friends for life.

 

They’d met eons ago, when Flo first moved here, in the early 70’s. Not a year later, a single mother with a young daughter moved here from a little town called Surrey, in England. Both being outsiders, Flo and Winnie got along like a house on fire. They grew up in this place, starting their families. Coming to know the ins-and-outs of this small, friendly town. They grew up, and elderly together. Win’s daughter, Annie, had her own baby daughter at 22. A little pink bundle of gorgeousness, christened as Evelyn Beatrice Winslow. The scoundrel of a father, whom barely warranted a name, skipped town three weeks after she was born. Flo had a mind to hunt him down and set to him with a baseball bat.

 

But Winslow girls were made of strong, stiff upper lipped, mettle; they pulled through together.

 

Flo had been besotted with Annie and Winnie. And she simply doted like hell upon their little Evie. Even with a family of her own growing in size, she always made time for her dearest friends. Flo always cooked an impressive spread, and made a point of telling anyone if they ever struggled for food, or got behind on rent, or simply didn’t have the budget to afford either rent or groceries - then no arguments, no matter of pride or manner of pitying charity case, pull up a chair at her table, and she’d see to it good, home cooked food would soon reach their hungry bellies.

 

Winnie had prevailed on that many times for her and Annie when they first came. Stacking shelves in the local market, and working at the hairdressers too, wasn’t such a well paid set of jobs for a single mother trying to put a kid through school, and make rent on the side.

 

Flo felt all gooey and sad thinking of her dearly departed friend. The feelings and the vow she made all stemming from her protectiveness, and fierce desire to see her Win’s Evie, finally settled and happy. With the love of a good man.

 

“The love of a kind decent man, could make a girl move mountains. It’d be good for her to love someone again. Be looked after. And care after someone in return. And it don’t hurt if the sex ain’t too bad either.” Flo winks at May. “Matter of fact good bedroom manners makes it almost worth having a guy.”

 

May shakes her head. “You be _careful_ next time you step foot in church. Filthy lady.” She japes. She wouldn’t be surprised if thunder and lightning struck the church steeple.

 

They look back to Evie to see she’s passing a platter of her peach pie down to Mays husband, Joe. She smiles at something he says to her. But they can both see it doesn’t reach her eyes.

 

“We can only hope this guy comes through for her, I guess.” May winces. Shrugging. Though full well knowing they both wished they could kick this guys ass into gear for their great girl.

 

“If he _doesn’t_...” Flo warns. Trailing off. Her threat open ended. She sips more wine in her simmering rage.

 

May hands her mother a piece of corn. “I don’t doubt you could _take him_ , ma.” She smiles. Leaning over to give her a one armed hug.

 

Lunch draws to a lazy close. The kids run off with Arthur to go help feed the cows. The guys gather plates to help wash up. The ladies set about clearing away the Tudor sized banquet of food. Apart from May, who went off for a post-lunch nap. Evie is ticking leftover things in cling wrap, when Flo totters over and helps her heap a great pile of dirty dishes onto a tray, ready to go back in the kitchen.

 

“Your pies were great sweetie. You know I can’t resist a Graham cracker crust.” Flo says. Stealing more pieces of peach from the half eaten pie dish.

 

“Well. I know how much Arthur likes the Cherry cobbler. But the peaches on my trees were in season. And _one_ person came to mind.” She smiles. Folding napkins. Flo pats her hand. Her bony one covering it. Her skin so wrinkled and soft, where her golden wedding band sat, her hand shaped around it, like gnarled roots of a tree growing around something foreign. Evie always thought that was the most beautiful thing about old age. Seeing a dull and beloved wedding ring almost welded into the skin of an aged old hand.

 

“You’re a sweet girl Evelyn. Come to think of it. I think you’re the _sweetest_ girl I know.”

Evie clasps her hand back over her friends.

 

“Screw being scared, sugar. You wanna see that man of yours, go _get_ him. I promise you, he won’t think any less of ya. But if not being with him is making you unhappy. Then that must mean he’s worth something awful special to ya.” She admits.

 

“I’m sorry if I brow-beat your bony ass earlier. You know what I’m like once I sniff out a rumour.” She smiles in deprecation at herself.

 

“If you’ve fallen for this man of yours. Then there’s nothing wrong with that. He must be a very spectacular fella to deserve you.” She adds. “Don’t get all hung up on who should phone who. Do what makes you happy. Scary as it is. Reach out. I promise if it’s meant to be, it’ll be worth it, and you’ll be so glad you did. Don’t _let_ him slip you by kiddo.” She encourages.

 

Evie wondered if Flo would be so encouraging if she knew about Kylo’s tendency toward a darker nature.

 

She thinks she’s kidding herself. Her stupid heart falling for a man who literally couldn’t love. Infatuated with a violent sociopath. It’s such an irony she wants to weep.

 

“I just- I don’t want to get hurt. Not by him. I couldn’t take the hurt of his rejection. It scares me to think I’ll end up unwanted, _again_.” She sighs morosely. Folding napkins over sharply. Now she’s thinking of him, all that worry about rejection and humiliation is bubbling up like poison in her blood.

 

“Don’t get ahead of your paranoia. Toots. Stamp it out. It hasn’t been that long. Let us see what time brings, _huh?”_ She winks. Folding Evie into a hug. She grips back the short, caring, elderly little frame of her adopted grandmother.

 

Evie took a deep breath. She’d needed talking down from her panicking ledge. Stewing over her worries had made her ugly old fears surface this past week. Flo was good at talking straight, honest sense. She dabbed at the tears that threatened at the corner of her eyes.

 

“Dry your eyes sugar. And hang the dishes. My lazy, no good sons can do this. We did all the cookin after all. Come sit with an old lady whilst I have my afternoon whiskey. I can tell you _all_ about my own experience with a tattooed biker.” Flo winks.

 

Evie laughs as Flo takes her across the lawn to the porch. Daisy was on the lawn, playing with Flo’s shaggy golden retrievers. Bo and Bonnie. Chucking a frisbee round. It whizzed on the air and dogs barked chasing after it.

 

Evie creaks Flo into her rocking chair and fetches her a dram of Glenlivet. They once again sit and natter about nothing in particular. Amber evening sun starts to drift through the trees. Some tired parents come to wrangle their kids into the bath before bed. Evie stands to take her leave from Flo. As the house still clamoured, inside and out. In the kindly light of the setting day.

 

“Don’t forget, its them town shindigs next weekend. Open air movie in the park. And bake sale in two weeks. You’re cookin for it right?” Flo asks as she totters down the path with her friend, seeing her to the car.

 

“Of course.” She smiles.

 

She’d promised no less than fifteen pies and eight cakes for the fundraiser for fixing the library roof. The small town library, where of course, she volunteered part time. Unpaid position. She mostly just organised books and help unpack new donations - Shaking moths and cobwebs out of those new donations more like. She didn’t do it for money. She did it for pleasure - _and_ to be near the books.

 

“Be seeing ya, toots.” Flo smiles as she tiptoes up on her feet to kiss Evie’s cheek. A wary of talc and roses smacks Evie in the face. She hugs Flo tight and opens her car door as she watches her second grandma hold Daisy’s hand and help lead her into the house. Dogs following suit. Baying at Flo’s ankles.

 

She stands at her opened car door, letting the heat out.

 

Evie looks back up at the gorgeous dream house, now surrounded, hemmed in, by a rusty sunset. The ochre grass ablaze. The treetops tinged amber. Honey light spills from the upstairs window. Noise and music, and voices, still pour out the windows from downstairs.

 

A glimpse of the life she thought she’d have, by now. In truth it hacks at her heart that she’s still an unwed spinster who no one wants. She ducks into her car with a glum sigh, and starts the drive home.

 

All the way her mind is occupied with confusing, embittered thoughts and dashed hopes. Flo told her not to give up on Kylo just yet - but part of her wants to let all her hope drain away now. Before it had a chance to build its home in her heart.

 

She turns the radio onto a golden oldies station. Lets the humming melody soothe her ears as a distraction as she enters the woods near home. The windows rolled down, letting a cool breeze flutter at her face. Tug at her hair. She watches stripes of orange light cast through the trees, onto her car, skipping over her as she passed. Down onto the little lane, bound homeward.

 

She watches her little house come into view. Half shaded chiaroscuro from trees shade, and sticky sunlight. The air was still stifling and muggy. Sticking her thin dress to her back. Her soft thighs dripping sweat where they touched. She felt it beading on her neck and collarbone too. She considers a cold shower as she climbs out her car, and locks it.

 

She gets the front gate, casting her eyes over her garden, when her stomach tenses and falls in a heavy heap right to her toes. All breath leaves her in a gasp.

 

For there is a sable-haired, tattooed, dashing _god_ of a man, reclined back on her porch wicker armchair.

 

Watching her with deep, greedy eyes and a lazy smile. His long, thick legs stretched out far in front of him. In black suit trousers. His shirt was a hunter green. Unbuttoned low, between his pecs. Italian black brogues on his feet. His jacket is slung carelessly over the arm of his chair that his big body swallowed up. His tie too, flopped over the chair.

 

He’d eschewed formality. His expensive suit watered down now to shirt and trousers in the strangling heat. In one hand, she saw he held a whiskey glass with a slither of amber in it, to one thigh. Swirling it as he watched her catch sight of him. Those piercing eyes she can feel staring at her already. They make her legs turn to mush, and her lungs completely sucked dry.

 

She opens the gate with a renewed excitement. Latching it behind her and walking through the garden and up onto the porch to join him. Her cardigan and keys in her hand. He drinks her in.

 

He swore to god if anymore sunlight shone on that dress, it would turn see-through. He could already see the twin columns of her pale thighs through the gauzy skirts. Gauzy thin like light shining through moths wings. His eyes travelled upwards, taking in her soft body draped in innocent pink chiffon. Slips of sandals on her feet. She steps up opposite.

 

One part of her wants to be reserved - the other part wants to _jump_ on him.

 

He’s sheened in sweat. He can see she’s the same. It was a sticky hot evening. Muggy forest drifts lazily around them. Encircling them. She’s lost in the lust of his hot eyes that scorched her. Bedroom eyes if she ever saw them. She recognised how her lust came alive for him too - merely on the sight of him. It was electric.

 

He tilts his head, urging her closer. He stands down his whiskey and draws her near, knocking her body into his knees as he sits up. Looking up at her as his palms skim up the backs of her thighs. she drops her things. He smirks up at her. She could smell the whiskey on him. His slow movements indicated he’d had a few.

 

“Get over here and sit on my cock, Kitten.” He demands on a husk.

 

He’d wanted her for _hours_. Wanted her back in his arms ever since he left here. Wanted her sweet body to indulge in after the pleasing events of his hectic week. As soon as he saw her in this flimsy dress, he wanted to watch his brute hands tear strips of it off, to get at her skin underneath. Seeing her rosy nipples stiffen for him. Puckering up, waiting for the kiss of his mouth

 

She moans when he tugs her off he ground, into his lap. Knees split over him. His hands going under her dress, hooking into her underwear. Slippery wetness already drips over his fingers. He finds it there, all entirely for _him_ this time.

 

“This all for me huh? It’d be a great shame to let this gorgeous wet pussy of mine go to waste.” He hums into her neck. His fingers dipping in her cunt, diving into her, as his teeth remark her now faded bitten-neck.

 

She melts. God help her, she just _crumbles_ into his arms. Sighing in bliss, head thrown back, her fingers clutch to his shoulders. Feeling his massive hard cock beneath her lap. Even through his trousers. Stiff as a board.

 

“What if someone _sees_ us? She worries. E _yes_ flickering around the empty woodland. Looking for shady figures hunched in the far away trees.

 

Her hands sink into his hair as he kisses her neck. Licking up her sweat and perfume. Feeling their desperate, boiling  bodies writhe with each other in the hot, breathless air. Not even a whisper of wind to cool them. They were both burning up - with need, and heat.

 

“Then I’ll _kill_ them.” He states sweetly, his hips humping up into her as he gets two fingers inside her tight, wet cunt again.

 

He groans deeply. As does she. He’s circling her clit with two slick, thick fingers dripping in her own wetness. She’s thrusting her body into his, seeking more.

 

“You’ve needed me to fill you up all week, haven’t you Kitten? Rub this clit. Finger this tight pussy. Fuck it raw again like last time, til you cum all over me. Gushing cream for me, like _my good_ girl.” He mumbles into her ear.

 

“Get your hand on my cock Kitten. That’s what I’ve been needing _all_ week. Those little hands of yours, stroking my big dick.” H _e_ orders hotly. Her hand searches for his zipper, and quickly fumbles to unleash the beastly sized cock that she was grinding up against. She’s missed him, and _this_.

He growls lowly in pleasure as she stroked him. Shuddering in wanton pleasure when she gets his hardness in hand again. He is ever more impatient today, so it seems, because he then drags her panties to the side, takes her by the hips and presses his cock inside her. Slapping their sweaty bodies into one.

 

Her shout echoes off the house. Shattering off each tree and coming back twice as loud. He sets her bouncing on him, the way he liked. Feeling her squelch around each long inch of him. Her hands struggled for his shoulders, clinging on for dear life. He throws his head back, sweat sliding down his throat and on his forehead, leaking into his hair. He’s sweaty. So is she. They’re dripping. It’s filthy. So _hot_. _Too hot_. And fucking  _glorious_.

_“Fuck_ _._ I’ve missed this pussy. I’ve missed this pussy so fucking goddamn much Kitten. A week without it feels like a fucking _year_.” H _e_ snarls as his hips snap faster, plowing into her deeper. Pressing at all those amazing spots.

 

She can’t speak. She can _barely_ gasp. She’s being fucked too well to talk. Her hands slide down his shirt, her palm drifts under the lip of it, to feel his powerful, hard, sweating body as he curses and grunts through her riding him. He rips the shirt open, indulging her. Letting her grope and grab at more of him as he fucks her silly.

Her mouth falls open. Cheeks reddening as he tears open the front of her dress. Burying his mouth in her sticky sternum. Her skin warm, her heartbeat pumping hot and hard against his mouth. She grasps his hair as he sucks at her skin. Tonguing at her breasts, biting them down to the cups of her bra. Helping guide how her hips grind onto his length. He watched his cock punch the breath out of her.

 

“Kylo. - _Oh_.You’re so _big_.” She whines. Almost sobbing it. Each time he pounds, pleasure and almost-too-much-pain flares through her belly. Her hands gently flickering her thumbs over his nipple rings, where they were still hooked under his shirt. He jolts. Fucks up harder. She clenches around him. Tight.

 

“I want this perfect pussy on my lap every day.” He moans. “I’m gonna fucking have it, day and night.” He vows. Swirling her hips over him. Feeding the sweet friction. The pleasure. Her clit is catching on something. And each bounce and grind feels more and more amazing.

 

“Kylo.” She groans.

 

He smirks.

 

Her ass now in his hands, he tugs and fucks, and fucks, and sucks on her neck until they both cum loudly. He muffled his cries. Sinking down on her throat. She quashes hers down into his shoulder. Her hips shuddering for every last spasm. He spurts deep inside her and doesn’t stop pouring cum into her til the pleasure blurs into too much.

 

Much as last time, he feels her wetness, sweat and slick trail down his length, his balls, and the front of his trousers. Her pussy slick leaving wet-sticky stains where they’d spilled out of her. Their breathing is mismatched. They pant and groan onto each other’s sweaty bodies. Gasping for breath in the muggy air. Feeling hot from head to toe. Drenched in both sweat and joined wet with bodily fluids where their laps met.

 

“ _Oh_ , holy god.” Evie gasps into his ear as he strokes down her legs. Both _so_ blissed out, you could’ve poured the pair of them out that chair.

Kylo closes his eyes and nuzzles into her neck. Her scent lingered there; geranium perfume. Sweat. Washing powder. And butter. _His Evie_.

 

“Sorry I kept you waiting so long for my _big_ cock. Kitten.” He grins a kiss against her ear. S _mug_ _._ _  
_

She gasps as he shifts inside her. Still hard. She pulls back and strokes some tamped curls away from his sticky forehead.

 

“I- I missed, all of you.” She admits in a shy little confession.

 

“Same here.” He leers right back at her. She’s been fucking haunting him ever since she left. Her touch, her scent, her body. Her damn lilac scent infused on his clothes. The way he could barely sleep for want of her hot pussy clenching around him. His big, luxurious bed felt too wide without her soft body to lean into and grab at.

 

_Damnit_ , here he was going and getting all used to her.

But then again - seeing as he’s just spent a weeks worth of built up cum inside her tight walls, and had the most blissful orgasm he can remember. He starts to let go of that inclination to worry about attachments.

 

“I didn’t know if you’d come back.” She admits also. Nervously twirling fingertips over his tattoos.

 

“I told you, Evie. You’re _mine_. If I could’ve been here every night dicking you down until you scream, I would’ve _leapt_ at the chance. _”_ He explains.

 

“Work got in the way this week. I actually came here to celebrate. What better way to do that than my sweet kitten riding my dick?” He smirks.

 

He dips a finger to where her pussy was stretched over him still. Scooping up a generous taste of her on his finger, he makes her watch as he sucks it clean.

 

“Better than _any_ champagne...” He growls. Giving her a savagely possessive kiss. Tasting herself, her tang, on his tongue. And the spiking taste of whiskey spice too.

 

She pulls back, and he attacks her neck. Makes her legs go all wobbly. More so than usual.

 

“May I ask what you’re celebrating?” She asks. Curling her toes against the wicker seat. One fingertip ribbing circles, following the shape of his nipple ring. He pulls away with a smile. Letting her skin release with a wet pop. Seeing the red welt he left behind.

 

“Starting up my own company. Bankrupting the pricks that fired me from Maddox & Haig. Finding a new site for office. And securing a business investor for my firm. You’ve just the ridden the _CEO’s_ _dick_ , baby.” He grins. “How’s that feel?” He asks shifting hair off her damp aghast face.

 

“CEO of your own architecture firm?” She asks. “Kylo. That’s _amazing_.” She smiles.

 

_God, she was just so good. So Uncorrupted_.  _Yet_ _still_ _sat stretched on his cock_ _._ _  
_

He smiles, a little smugly, at her. “I start hiring next week.” He says. “Which leaves me a few days spare to spend _inside_ my kitten, in bed.” He grumbles sexily. Smiling into her throat.

 

She goes all shy and red at the comment. But she can’t deny she wants that - _very much so._ _  
_

_“_ Well. _How_ could I turn down such a, wonderful invitation?” She asks with a lazy, spent smile. Feeling the scar dripping down his neck as she nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Eyes flitting all over him.

 

“It’s not an invitation.” He corrects. “It’s an _order_.” He says with a beaming smile.

 

An order she knows the conniving devil on her shoulder will make her _obey_.

_S_ he tries to ease off him, her legs as wobbly and spasming like a baby foals. She shudders a gasp when he slips out. Leaving her stretched wide after the horribly empty gap he left inside her. She was growing used to the feeling of his cock stuffing her to the hilt.

 

“Easy, Kitten.” Kylo commends. Uncaring for the mess, he brings her back into his lap, draped across his sideways. Her right side pressing into his left, legs folded over his thighs. Wet pussy and cum soaking into his trousers.

 

Fuck the mess - he can buy another suit. He doesn’t give a fuck about the five figures it cost that he’s ruining with their mess. He just wants her near. He actually grows _harder_ , feeling their cum soaking into his thigh. He tucks himself away into his briefs and tugs her close with one big hand dwarfing around her waist.

 

“Jelly legs baby. Aftermath of a truly great fuck.” He warns happily.

 

She relaxes into him. He welcomes her there. Sucking at her neck again. Making her weak. Like he always does.

 

He closes his eyes. Exhaling against her neck. Feeling the suns heat hit them both square in the back. He takes a lungful. A drag of her. Feeling his mind just switch off for a minute. Hazy. Spent. Unwound.

 

Listens to birds chirp in the trees. The crickets. Swaying leaves hissing on the barely there, breeze. He lets it’s simplicity soothe his rarely calm, black rotten soul.

 

She speaks up, fiddling with his expensive Alexander McQueen shirt buttons. Her toes fidget too. Both shoes slipped off where they’d fucked so hard.

 

“Did you want to stay for dinner?” She asks him.

 

His eyes snap open. Still foggy brain searching for an answer. Evie can see he looks unsettled.

 

“But, I’m- not dressed for it.” He offers.

 

She sits up away from his lap and looks him up and down. She smiles. With her red cheeks, shaded blue eyes, bitten blue neck and freshly fucked look, rumpling her pristine dress. He can’t think of a more irresistible sight.

 

“You look perfectly decent to me. Mr. Ren.” She smiles. “We’re pretty relaxed about the dress code here at Maison Winslow.” She jokes lightheartedly.

 

His brain stutters. The girls he was used too were always clamouring for Michelin star gourmet restaurants. In which any dress code below a Gucci suit, was a good enough reason to refuse service. He was accustomed to five star style dining. And fashion to match. His brain did not compute her simple, cute offer.

 

His face turns serious. Brow furrowed. Dark eyes looking bewildered.

 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want-“ she says. Trying to placate the confusion that’s ebbing off him in waves.

 

He brings her close and shuts her up with a melting kiss. It curls her toes and zings her spine.

 

“Dinner sounds great. I can go out and get some wine if my hostess requires it.”

 

“No need.” She beams. “I have plenty in the cellar. My grandma kept it well stocked. You can choose one if you like...” She slowly eases off his lap. Feeling her panties slip back into place. His cum pouring into them when she stands on spasming thighs.

 

“Home made spaghetti and meatballs alright?” She asks sweetly. Reaching for her keys, the keys she’d dropped when he tugged her into the crushing embrace of his arms.

 

He doesn’t let her hand slip off him. Rather he keeps a hold on it. And tugs her palm to his lips. Kissing her sweaty skin.

 

“You’re _perfect_.” He sighs happily to her.

_“_ You won’t be saying that when I need those _strong_ arms to help me with the washing up.” She teases, opening her door and slipping inside.

 

He chuckles. Lounged back on the chair. Head swimming with bliss. Body unwound from fucking. Smiling.

 

“ _Careful_ , Kitten.” He warns playfully. Eyes gleaming hot black. Like coals.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Fetish for Love & Punishments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty. Quickie. Tree. Need I say more?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once again, when Kylo woke up in her antique, cosy little bed. Naked, clammy from sleep, and wrapped in bedsheets he’d made her cum all over the night before. The same thing happened as last time...

 

He stretched out his big hand to find his soft, bare kitten. And found only cooling bedsheets in her place. The warmth still on them his only imprint of company.

 

His eyes peel fully open. The suns not even fully awake in the sky yet either. Purple and peach bruise the sky in a fantastic array of colours. Where she’s left the window open, the chilling bite of the air tells him the day isn’t even thawing away the cool of night just yet.

 

He growls lowly in the back of his throat. His incessant morning wood already strangling his mood to become a sour one. For his perfect, personal pussy isn’t here, by his side, for him to sink his Cock into. That sets off a spreading annoyance to spear into his chest. It’s almost immature of him, in a way, his mood being set crooked and enraged by the mere fact he wasn’t fucking her half to death already.

 

He growls again and heaves himself up out of bed. Mood turning like a cold shift of wind on a warm summers day. Thunder clouds gathering in his eyes. Making his impatient cock throb more annoyingly where it wagged straight between his legs.

 

He grabs his underwear, and yanks it sharply up to his hips. He slams a hand to the bathroom door, it clatters open and shows him the narrow, dark of her empty en-suite.

 

He rounds her bedroom door to the landing and his feet pound the steps as he goes down each one. The old wood creaked and cracked under his fury and his weight. The kitchen is devoid of her. As is her study and the living room.

 

_No Kitten._

 

His dark eyes turn toward the front door. In the dimness of the hallway where the mornings barely lit it. His pupils shimmer black and the whites of his eyes glint silver as he scans the gardens.

 

The ache between his thighs, and tugging like a hooked fishing line caught in his stomach, was starting to become unbearable. He needs his soft, small little toy under him. On top of him. Stretched split wide on his erection. He needs her right _fucking now._ Before the antsy anger in his blood boils over.

 

He heads for the front door and hauls it open. Curtains over the window slap on the sudden air. He steps onto the porch. Cold wooden boards tingling his soles underfoot. He treads the boards until he comes to the side of the house. Eyes fixating on the small figure that bobbed and weaved amongst the greenery of her vegetable garden.

 

She stood out stark from the surrounding woods. A purple blue morning oozed our from the background of the woods. Every patch of her garden was dark green and dense before sunlight got to it. She was an outstanding spec of colour amongst the sea of green. Especially in her tatty blue shirt and jeans. And a flouncy, drooping straw hat sat on her head.

 

She was fixated. Currently bending right over to pull out some weeds with her gloved hands. Taunting him with that round little ass in tight indigo jeans. The ass in question belonged back in bed. Beside him. Or being pounded into by his powerful hips as he did her doggy from behind.

 

His cock pulses and throbs heavy with _that_ temptation.

 

He’s barefoot and naked, save for severely tented boxers. But that doesn’t stop him. Nothing will. He bounds down the steps and feels cool earth dig between his toes. He strides over to where she’s stood.

 

So close now he can smell her perfume on the air. See the coil of her hair folded forwards over her shoulder. The way her clothes rustled, rasping as she steps over a neat row of cabbages.

 

She jerks and squeaks in surprise when he hooks a thick finger in her belt loop, and tugs her back into the safe strong harbour of his tatted chest. His arm bunches around her middle. Pressing her tummy back into his swaying body.

 

He rips the hat off her and skims it away on the air like a frisbee. It lands over by her lettuces. Cushioned by their greenery. His greedy mouth comes low across her ear.

 

“I had hoped I could have my breakfast served up to me _in_ bed, this morning.” He rumbles. Teasing his hand to the seam of her jeans. Running along her crotch. Palm cupping her pussy. His previously mentioned ‘ _breakfast_.’

 

The only thing she had to do to feed him in the morning, was spread her legs and arch her hips. And he’d consider himself a well-fed man.

 

She shudders. Wanting to grind down onto his hand. She drops the basket she had crooked over her fingers. Produce within lumping around, rolling together. Cast to the wayside in the wake of Kylo’s appetite.

 

”Sorry.” She winces. She hated waking up alone too. 

 

She had planned on omelettes for their breakfast. With herbs and vegetables used from her garden. But it appears the shift in Kylo’s hunger was turning in a different direction than a culinary inclined one.

 

His touch turns to a grip.

 

“I didn’t much like waking up alone in your bed. _Again_.” He warns lowly.

 

She feebly opens her mouth to offer her excuse up for him to shred to pieces. “S-sorry Kylo. I just wanted to get a few weeds up before it got hotter. I didn’t think you’d mind me leaving you asleep.” She hushes.

 

_Silence_. Wrong fucking answer.

 

“You didn’t think I’d _mind?_ ” He repeats in stiff mocking. His voice all stone and coldness. Unflinching. Hard. Like a stoic statue of icy marble.

 

She’s shut up real quick when a very long, hard cock is pressed against her ass. Throbbing. Even through her thick jeans she can feel how desperately hard he is.

 

She opens her mouth to once again say how sorry she is. Her cheeks heating in shame, she is closed in his iron grip. And hauled off. He walks them closer to the garden. Near the fence.

 

His meaning becomes clear as the day that’s about to break over the purple dawn, when he shoves her hands onto the rough bark of the nearest thick tree. Splits her legs wide with one knee. Slams her ass to grind against his cock and growls in pleasure. Like a rutting animal finally getting its mate on all fours.

 

“Good thing you love taking a big cock from behind kitten.” He tells her. “I might be a nice guy and _fuck_ you open after your punishment.” He growls down at her. Spitting dark fury at her. She doesn’t need to look behind her to see that his eyes are piercing and darker than obsidian. His teeth are bared and there’s no stopping him now. Not for all the world.

 

He’s going to punish her. Pound her. And He’s not going to give in until her cream drips down to her trembling knees.

 

She hides her face when his brute hands rip open and shove down her jeans. He snap’s her cotton underwear right off her. Tearing away at her hips. She feels its sting. He looks at her ruined panties in his hand and smirks. Between him and his twin squirrelling them away, she’d risk running out soon. Except he wouldn’t replace the simple cotton briefs. He’d lavish her in coco de mer, or agent provocateur. Something much more expensive for her sweet little pussy to drool slick into. Sexy lace and fine Silk. And all for him to find, tug at, and explore with his fingers.

 

He refocuses his aim downwards on her backside.

 

Her pale little ass now fully exposed to him. Her velvet skin almost glowed white here in the half dark.

 

He watches his hand span one cheek. Gripping it tight. Squeezing her. Before he pulls back and his palm collides in a sharp smack against her ass that makes all the birds overhead, scatter and flap out the trees. Off into the horizon.

 

She muffled her crying mouth onto her stretched out forearm. Smothering her moans. The sting. The heat. All of it rushed painfully to the surface of her ass where his handprint now sat in stark flaming scarlet. Each finger. The span of his palm. It branded her.

 

Blood poured into her cheeks. And she’s struggling to keep her knees upright. They’re knocking together as they shake.

 

“Count. Kitten. You loose place. I start this all over...” _Smack_. “Again.” He growls. She whimpers.

 

“Wh-one.” She gasps out weakly. He soothes the sting with his hand and feels the shivers run through her.

 

His hand lands again and she feels her treacherous sex freely pour slick to her inner thighs. Slippery and hot as she clenches her thighs together. Counting the second strike.

 

“Two.” She trembles. Her voice breaking messily as she squeaks. Toes curling up in her grubby converse. She’s never had any other man do this to her. It’s perverse and painful. Yet, _amazingly_ , she still finds herself turned on by it.

 

“Three.” His palm hits her again. Her nails rake down the bark. Tears streaming down her face. She can’t tell if this is addictive or repulsive.

 

“F-four.” She sobs. Trying to stop her hips from carting forwards too far. Shrinking out of his touch. She’s hiccuping with sobs by now. She arches her back when he slides a hand up her top, and around her ribs to clutch one breast in his hand.

 

He’s not gentle when he tugs and pinches her nipple. She whines his name.

 

“ _Yes_ , Kitten?” He mocks.

 

Then comes another smack. She starts to feel now how the pain radiates through her much more powerfully than the pleasure. Now, it’s starting to bite it’s sting into her with full force. She’s sure her nail marks are embedded in the bark.

 

“Five.” She says. He loves how her voice is no more than a strained squeak. She’s either gasping or sobbing. It’s making him harder in his boxers.

 

Her eyes are screwed so tightly shut in anticipation of the sixth. She gasps right through it when it comes. The seventh is the same. The eighth made her tears come. The ninth and she’s sobbing.

 

The tenth makes her howl with relief, so loud, she’s sure her nosy, elderly deaf neighbour will hear it - sans hearing aid. She hears it come back to her, off every tree trunk surrounding them. Recoiling back to her. Re-reminding her of her shame.

 

His hand smoothed over her ass once more. Loving the heated skin passing so softly under his palm.

 

“I think that’s enough. Sugar is always sweeter than salt, after all Kitten.” He explains. She understands his reasoning when two thick fingers are shoved roughly into her pussy. Curling upwards. Dragging against the spot that threatens to make her knees collapse from right under her.

 

She doesn’t even recognise the noises she’s making. She can’t fathom how such desperate, feral, animalistic moans are coming from her mouth. But she can hear how her slick cunt sounds squishing around his fingers as he fucks her open.

 

She goes to moan his name. But only gets so far as “Kyl-“ before her own moan interrupts her, when he changes the angle to pummel at her sweet spot.

 

He shoves his fingers harder and harder til he feels her thighs tense. Her slick spurting over his hand. Watching how he practically tortured her with pleasure.

 

“You ever gonna leave me on my _own_ in bed, again?” He asks her in a snarl.

 

She can’t answer ‘no’ fast enough. She shakes her head. Whines. Arches her spine for him. Her pussy fluttering around the relentless plunge of his fingers.

 

Tears sting her eyes. She’s definitely sobbing now. Her ass is on fire and her cunt is on fire, weeping over his palm to his wrist as he slaps against her. Curling and prodding that amazing spot deep inside.

 

She’s edged on tiptoes. And a crushing orgasm wracks her spent body of every ounce of energy. He’s wrung her out like he’s twisting a piece of cloth. Savouring every drop. His eyes drink in how she cums down his forearm. His fingers strung with her sticky slick.

 

He pulls away gently. Letting her feel every ridge and vein in his fingers. He swirls his fingers in a wide circle before he pulls out. Loving how tightly strung out his little kitten was. He wets his lips looking at her red ass, and swollen pussy. Sheening wet in the half light with her own fluids.

 

He drags her ass into both big hands, opens her apart, and fucks her into the tree with one push of his powerful hips. Plunging into her scorching hot heat. Stepping closer. Hips smacking together.

 

His mouth goes slack when he feels how he stretched open her tiny cunt. _God_ , she was always so tight for him. He’s never going to get tired of how she has to work hard just to fit him inside her. He stuffed her so full she’d never know what to _do_ with herself. It felt like his every plunge distended her belly.

 

He moans now. It was his turn to be loud. He groans louder with every deep thrust he pushes further into her body. His hips are pounding hard into her sore ass. But that doesn’t deter him. She needed to learn _no one_ left Kylo Ren alone, hard, un-satisfied and un-fucked in bed. Especially when he needed her sweet pussy on his face for his breakfast.

 

When she’s recovered from this; which would be a while, maybe by tonight, he’ll have her hands bound to her headboard with his belt. Eating her _out_ til she passes _out_. He’s been itching for that since he saw she had a antique brass bedstead.

 

He grabs fistfuls of her ass and fucks her nice and deep. His thighs shoving her hard against the scratchy tree. She’s being rubbed and chafed from the back, and the front. But the ripples of pleasure that invade her lower body. Singing up her spine, and rocketing down her legs, makes her gasp and beg for more.

 

She’s black and blue. And yet she’s never before been screaming for more. It’s _obscene._

 

“Where’s that spot I _love_ fucking so much...” He asks. Slowing his hips to a languid pace. The squelch of their bodies meeting softens as he slows. He shifts her leg, and thrusts, she sobs louder.

 

He grunts in annoyance. “ _No_. That’s not it.” His hips slam deeper, clever fingers find her clit and playfully rub it, fluttering at it. He wants that whine she makes when she can’t stop cumming. He wants her gushing over him. Oversensitive pussy raw and weeping on his dick. And she’s trying to squirm away.

 

She swore to god she was going blind from the pleasure. Howling like a banshee.

 

“No.” He says again. His other hand abandons her clit and yanks her head back by her hair. She’s on fire. All of her is burning up, ravened in pleasure of pain. She can’t decide is this man in an angel; or a demon.

 

“Can I only reach it with half my hand buried in your sweet pussy, huh?” He asks in a loveless snarl. Slamming in once more. When she literally chokes, he grins and she feels it on her sweaty throat.

 

“ _Ohhh_.” He smirks. “There it is...” Comes his sigh. “Is it there Kitten?” He asks. Taunts. Grabbing her waist and pounding her over and over til she swore she was going to sag unconscious when she cums.

 

“Is that it _right_...there?” He pants into her ear. One hand slithering round to grab her nipple again. Feeling how her soft tits jolt when his cock fucks her to catch at that angle.

 

His teeth catch her jugular. His tongue soothes over her raucous heartbeat. “You better not have plans today Kitten. You’re gonna be in bed with me til the sun goes down.” He intones filthily.

 

“I’m gonna lay you out on those bedsheets of yours, and eat your cunt til you’re screaming for my cock.” He tells her. But he was far from silent about their activities for today yet...

 

“Then, oh, then baby, I’m gonna bounce you on this cock you love so much, til you’re spent and sore. And there’s no more room for my cum in you. I’ll have fucked you _full_ , and even then I’m still not done with you.” He growls. Grabbing her gorgeous neck and giving it a tight squeeze.

 

“I’ll be fucking this pretty cunt of mine all damn day. Every and any way I want. Cause it’s mine. _You’re mine._ And by tomorrow you will not be able to fucking walk, I will have dicked you down so good.” He promises with a lethal ram of his hips that bursts the dam inside her she hadn’t realised she was holding back.

 

She cries. Screams. Sobs and wails.

 

But not much more than a choke escapes her throat. Everywhere burns. Her scraped knees. Sore nipples. Stinging red ass and thoroughly abused pussy - all of her is one giant ache. A nerve strung out that he was cruelly plucking at with his fingers.

 

She tries valiantly to hold herself upright. Managing it as great crests of her orgasm fade away. She’s speaking, though she doesn’t know it. She’s stuck on a mantra of his name, and pleas, and yeses falling from her lips, hard, like hail on a tin roof.

 

She’s spasming too much to register he’s spurted his big hot load inside her. She feels him twitch, and softly pull away with a slick squish in the air making her wince at how sticky she is. His hand presses to her lower back, and it’s a good thing too.

 

She tries to stand alone, but her knees can’t take it. They felt too brittle. Like tight rubber. They just wobbled and collapsed.

 

She’s in his arms before she can even squeak. Quite a sight to see - her raw pussy leaking. Shirt tugged free of buttons, torn open, flimsy bralette shoved down her tits. Which spilled free. Her breasts and knees rubbed red raw by the tree, and her ass still pin-pricked sharp, like one whole, giant, bee sting.

 

Kylo gently lays her head to settle to the crook of his neck. Scooping her up in his arms as if she were feather light - to him she probably was. He feels her twitch and shudder. Body hanging limp in his arms.

 

She’s just had the most intensely violent orgasm of her life. And she sighs, tucking her fingers in his sweaty nape as he walks them back to the house. She gently taps his shoulder when she sees him head upstairs with her.

 

“I-I may need a minute...” She gasps out.

 

Kylo chuckles darkly in her ear. “I may be cruel in the bedroom kitten. I’m not _that_ cruel.” He grins. Kissing her neck.

 

“ _Yet_...” He chuckles. Teeth scraping her neck to tease. She whines. He, very lightly, pats her bottom.

 

“You took your punishment well, babe. You might find you get your _reward_ _for that_ , a little later on.” He husks as he lowers her to the bed.

 

“Reward?” She sighs. Snuggling into her sheets. The golden sun just started to ebb over the windowsill. Causing a stripe to blaze across the rug. Tangling in her bare toes after he tugs her muddy shoes off.

 

There’s a clatter on the end of the bed and she opens her eyes, which blow wider when she sees his belt strung over the foot of the bedstead.

 

The bed dips behind her as he comes to cradle her body in his. His fingers swipe over her thigh and gently brush across her cum-stained cunt.

 

“I promised this pretty pussy of mine a _good_ time. Now didn’t I? I intend to keep my pledge.” He grins. Nibbling on her ear.

 

She either falls asleep, or passes out. She didn’t like to say _which_.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screech/squeal/thirst at me. Come on.


	21. Ordinary Fools & Ownership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I was a man I thought it ended  
> When I knew love's perfect ache  
> But my peace has always depended  
> On all the ashes in my wake.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie didn’t mind admitting to it - it was a nice change of pace to be involved with a man again.

 

Someone there beside her when she fell asleep. A warm furnace of a chest, and his impossibly big, broad-backed body in her bed. Making her feel small when he spoons into her from behind. - usually his hand cupped between her legs, as it seemed happy to stay there in their sleep. Safe to say, that usually led to an amazing bout(s) of morning sex before the sun even came up.

 

Matter of fact, of the numerous times it happened, she fancied the moon could still be out, it’s glowing reaches brightly basting the woods in ethereal silver light. Shattering in white slithers off her windowpanes. The pair of them would barely be two hours into the sweaty, hot peace of afterglow.

 

She’d be snoozing, when she feels him lift her thigh, and her eyes spring open, a long gasping drawn of “ohhhh.” Leaving her lips as he pushes his cock in deep. So deep. Always nice and deep and as far as he could manage, for her. But really for him when he loves how her tiny pussy flutters so prettily around his big cock. Back to his chest. Fingers plucking at her stiff clit, or nipples. Mouth biting her neck blue as he languidly plows his cock into her and fucks, another one of his seemingly never ending, loads of cum into her. He was the tattooed definition of insatiable. When he promised to fuck her full, he means it with deadly seriousness.

 

Kylo had _no_  room for lighthearted levity when it came to fucking.

 

After he’s made her cum an ungodly amount of times, again, their bodies sheening with sweat in the moonlight. Sticking to the sheets, he’ll slump down, still with his cock burrowed deep in her, and curl his arms around her as that big chest pounds her back as he pants. Then again, they’ll slumber, joined together as a sweaty heap, his muscle, her curves, all intertwined in a hot tangle of limbs and wet cum.

 

Evie’s never washed her bedsheets so often in her life. She’s beginning to suspect she’s loosing the battle on trying to keep them fresh and clean. They no longer smell like linen, they permanently smell like their bodies. Of them. Like sweat. Like _sex_.

 

He’d be up and away early with a parting kiss. He can function on very little sleep, whereas now he’s _on her_ every other night, she seems to find herself needing more and more rest than she ever used to require. She’s not complaining.

 

Now gleefully employed again, writing short little columns and articles for her tiny towns paper, she finds her morning routines starting to take shape.

 

She’s up when it just starts getting sunny, and the birds start singing. She’s in the shower - trying to wash away Kylo’s permanent reminder strung between her thighs and deep in her cunt. And then she’s pulling on casual dresses or cool shirts and skirts to wear for her ten minute drive to the office.

 

The office in question, for the Town Gazette, was a two roomed, ground floor set up. With _four_ staff members - now she was on the roster. And their collective age all outweighed hers, as they were well into their sixties. Her and the filing clerk, Esther, were the only ladies on the team. It’s not the most challenging job, writing short articles about who larked about and vandalised the town sign with rude graffiti, or who in town got angry with who, if someone trimmed hedges down that didn’t belong to them, on their shared fence line.

 

Seeings as her last job put her through the wringer - she’s determined to enjoy the slow pace of small town life. Even if today she had a three page spread about the mayors dogs knee surgery.

 

She’s happy to be writing - of course Gizmo’s knee ailments weren’t going to ever win her a Pulitzer Prize for writing, she simply liked being involved with the town she loves. The friends she knows. The familiar faces she sees each day, rather than the stiff brads, chads and suited city boys she had to navigate around each morning at Armstrong & Lowery.

 

She gets herself a danish and a coffee from the Happy Cake bakery and takes it to her desk. Where the fascinating conversation surrounding her for that morning was the editors ingrown toenail. She gets down to her tasked work with a coy smile, starting a piece on the residents outrage at the local market changing it’s layout for the first time since 1948.

 

Her mind wandered a little as she left the office, down the sunny pavements to talk to some locals for the piece. She manages to flag some of them down, getting a decidedly mixed bag of reviews. She’s sat in the town square, with a peach iced tea, in her pretty red sunflower sundress, going over her notes, everyone spoke about change, and her mind wanders to the recent shifts in her own life.

 

It didn’t need proclaiming that the sex was _more_ than fantastic. The many mornings she’d been left stranded in bed with no leg power was too high to count.

 

She’s damn certain there isn’t a place in, _or_ surrounding her house, that they haven’t _done_ it. Study. Living room. Stairs. Kitchen island last night. That left her now with a line of bruises along the fronts of her thighs where he bent her over it. Pressed into the countertop. Both hands crossed behind her back. Held in one of his. He fucked her til she came four times.

 

Now she’d been with a man who could cum more times than her in one sitting, she’s beginning to understand how people can become _addicted_ to sex. Everything feels right, feels better, when he’s there. Caressing her. Touching her. Kissing her neck. Stuffing her full of him in so many ways she feels the loss of him all too painfully when he pulls away.

 

She’s trying not to let herself worry about categorising their ‘sessions.’ Trying to make sense of it herself, and that little niggling paranoia in her head that constantly wanted to yammer on and on, about what they were to each other. She wasn’t really a hook-up girl. She was a dating girl by nature. The casual sex gene wasn’t one she’d been blessed with the confidence to have. Of course, she wasn’t fretting about exclusivity on her part. Not with the way he left her boneless every night.

 

But she did start to wonder about _him_. Some rare nights if he wasn’t around, or if she took longer than usual to drift off, her mind did start to imagine the worst. Maybe he had a wife. A cold, shrew of a wife he abandoned at home each night. Maybe another girl on the go? He’d all but growled his ownership over her, but she hadn’t even thought to ask about _him_. Was he a loyal creature? Or was this some rotten thought that just wanted to make her wary now she’s, finally, got a man again.

 

She’d never bring it up. She felt safer staying silent. She trusted Kylo. He’d made it pretty glaringly obvious that he wasn’t there to hurt her - much. Only there to bring pleasure. She knows the nature of him is cold, and unfeeling. That’s what she supposed it was going to be a while before, or even _if,_ he lets her into his life. If he ever wants to, that is.

 

Part of her was terrified, that one day he’d just not come. And the next, and the next day after that. And after that. And then the horrible realisation would dawn that she was really nothing to him at all but an average fuck for a while. His sunny roll in the hay with the shy librarian. But then winter had struck and he’s off elsewhere, sowing his wild oats.

 

She couldn’t kid herself from it. He was a sociopath. Realistically, how long would his attachment last?

 

She doesn’t want to think about it. Sometimes she did and could feel herself slipping into a sinkhole of paranoid panic in her head. Usually at night, worries came flooding back.

 

She’d turn away from him in bed and try and not think. Some nights he grumble how: “ _I can hear your brain ticking over. Kitten.”_ By which point he’d usually smirk like the devil, and then slides between her thighs to tongue at her cunt with such skill it instantly makes her thoughts grow still.

 

She ponders over her troubling questions all day. Through submitting her pieces and closing up the office early - because Esther needed to go home at 3 to give her cat it’s medicated ear drops. Evie makes her way to the market and browses a while trying to decide on dinner. She checks her phone. No word yet from her handsomely instatiable, tall dark lover. She puts her phone away and gets a whole heap of groceries in - just in case.

 

Her heart thuds, squeezing out sudden panging pain when her brain pipes up that her heart was getting too involved. Throwing itself in after someone who couldn’t care less about it. She does her best to ignore it.

 

_Your curse Evie,_ it bays at her _, is that you always think first and foremost with your heart._

She drives home with the radio turned up high. Drowning out her head. Window down. Breeze through her hair, tangling in the sun. Speckled shade passes over her. And she switches off from her fears.

 

Getting home, to her sunny little house, she lets it’s mere presence act as a cooling balm to her battered sore soul. She sighs and unlatched her gate, arms full of brown paper bags. She’d splashed out tonight on fillet steak. Peppercorn sauce and two bottles of red wine. It was a bit over her budget this month, but her savings can cover any short embarrassment. And now she gets a little fistful of dollars from the gazette to help pad out her bank account the tiniest bit. Twenty cents a word wasn’t going to keep her afloat forever, though.

 

She unpacks her groceries and sets about on dinner. It was only four o’clock. But that doesn’t stop her having a very big glass of white wine straight from the fridge. The cool sting of its tang stings at her tongue as she hums idly to the gravelly voice of someone on the radio. She starts making dinner. The wine goes right to her head. She’d skipped lunch today.

 

The music was probably louder than it ought be. She doesn’t even hear his Aston crawl up the drive. The side kitchen door she’d propped open to let the breeze in. However, It let more in than just the hot breeze.

 

He fills the doorway. Him, his tall towering body clad in dark garb of black westwood trousers and charcoal shirt. With red hell laboutin soled dress shoes. His hair hung like black vines around his face. Too long, in this heat. Sticking to his neck the same way his collar had. A bottle of $6000 red wine in one big hand.

 

She hadn’t seen him yet. Her back to him. He watches her little body clad in her cute red sundress, ending mid thigh, flouncy skirts, and patterned all over with butter yellow sunflowers. He tilts his head. Raking his eyes over her for a second. Framed from behind by a golden square of sunlight.

 

It truly did astound him that she could never see how truly gorgeous she was. She was shy and reticent down to the very marrow of her bones. How many times had he fucked her, told her how irresistible she is? Western mathematical principles couldn’t account for the number of times he recants how beautiful she is. He’s fucked her in front of every reflective surface to make her see exactly what beauty he sees. Yet still she doesn’t. It astounds him.

 

He treads the floors softly. Only announcing his arrival when he reaches around and places the bottle of red down in front of her. She recoils lightly in shock at first, not hearing him through Hozier’s Arsonist’s Lullaby that blared loud through her small kitchen. Filling up the air with noise and music.

 

She pauses in her chopping up home grown mushrooms. Her hands relax the knife on the board. His hips sway into hers, bumping to trap her into the kitchen counter. His pelvis snug to her ass. Feet outside hers. Head bowed to rest into the crook of where her neck meets shoulder. That slope decorated in delicate skin he’s had between his teeth more times than he can count. Bruising her paleness there every shade and colour, under the sun. He liked seeing the different arrays each time he did it.

 

His soft waves of inky hair are trapped between the plane of his cheek and her temple. She shuts her eyes in bliss, her free hand meeting where his big calluses one cupped her fleshy thigh and edged playfully under the hem of her dress.

 

Where she’d shut her eyes, she feels warmth, and sun, and him at her back. Keeping her cradled safe in his arms. In the safe port of his wide chest. His crisp shirt feels rasping and stiff against her arms. And now she can smell how he’s brought in scents of the garden, and his gorgeously unique cologne with him. Pepper, bergamot, citrus musk and wood. That smell she associates with his tough, hot skin. The one that makes her smile, even in her sleep when she senses the cloud of it near her. It’s very attractive source in her bed with her. Soaking into her pillows for her to cherish detecting there later.

 

Her head meets his meaty shoulder when his fingers dance up her thigh, skimming to test the hem of her underwear. His closed mouth smile scorched breath over her ear. Down her neck. Prickling her weak skin.

 

His touch says that he’s _missed_ her. But she won’t indulge herself in that thought unless it comes directly spoken on a baritone drawl from between those soft, talented lips.

 

Her body is starting to smoulder. Like a wood fire starting to crackle, spit and flutter to life. Smoking. Drunken butterflies clash into each other in her tensely anticipating stomach. Their intimacy is reaching its indomitable stage by now. She knows this touch. She’s learned what _comes_ after - usually its _her_.

 

He cups her thigh, grinding his crotch deep against her ass.

 

“Had a rough day. _Need_ your pussy.” He growls succinctly.

 

He grabs slowly for her hip. And spins her about to face him in her arms. Pinning her back now to the counter. She feels tiny and weak when his burning black pits for eyes found her shaded ocean ones.

 

She watches him silently. Caressing whatever part he wanted first. He shifts hair off her neck. Seeing his bruises blossomed there from last night. She tilts her head barely to the side so he can better see them. Even as he crouched to his knees in front of her. The top of his head comes brushing at her lower stomach.

 

Massive palms grab her fleshy thighs, skimming up, seizing her hips, pinning her ineffectually yet pretty sundress over her waist. He loved how it was secured together with taupe wooden buttons that gaped over her pale breasts, all the way down to the hem. Letting skin peep between the button holes.

 

His eyes set sight on her pussy. His _prize_ at the end of his nasty hellish day. He’d been dreaming about getting it on or in his mouth _all_ afternoon. He sat there salivating for it’s particular taste.

 

That idle fancy taking up all room in his head as he sat ignoring the very dull investors and shareholders meeting happening around him. He couldn’t stop his wanting to taste her. _Yearning_. His eagerness to throw every boring old bastard out his newly decorated conference room, and instead have her spread eagled out for him to eat on this table. Christening it with her cum.

 

He’s brought back down to Earth, his cock beginning to throb as his PA nudged him in the arm gently, making him look up, to realise an investor had asked a question. He’d been too zoned out on thoughts of Evie’s cunt to notice.

 

He hooks a finger in her, he smiles at this, rose pink cottons, and gets them to looping her ankles together like fabric pink shackles. _Now there was a dangerous thought._

 

He gets them off her feet, cradled one thigh over his shoulder and presses her ass back into the counter as he sinks his tongue, face first, into her cunt. Lapping up what she obediently drips. _His good little kitten._

 

His eyes roll back in his head, pure, sweet raw flesh and sweet taste of Evie slipping like honey down this throat. Coating his tongue in her essence. His hand spreads on her thigh and he sighs a growl into her, letting its hum pierce her clit as he flickers and flutters his tongue at it. Repeating big slow laps with his tongue. Like a big cat.

 

He loves how she shudders around something so simple as his tongue shoved in her. Her body moves on the end of it. He can smell skin. Sweat. Perfume and her lineny washing powder from her dress.

 

He can taste how wet he’s made her. How slick she drips. She’s every sweet good thing when he fucks her with his mouth. Loves on her like this with his tongue. Deep. He makes a point of always being deep as he can get inside her. And she’s heaven. Like soft butter. Wet satin. Gliding velvet walls around him.

 

His nose presses into her clit. Prodding there as he eats. Feeling her coat his face in silky slick. He uses his tongue to swirl a circle inside her, before dragging out and drawing a thin line right down her sex. Over every dip and plump wet fold. He teases her pussy that way until he feels her twitch for him. He spreads her open with a spread V of two fingers, sees how pink and pulsing she is, he takes pity and sucks her clit into his mouth, nuzzling his face right in - from chin to nose. Sucking up the silken nectar she offers him.

 

He batters her ripe little bud under his merciless tongue. Because it is. Just like the rest of him - it’s ruthless and unyielding to the point of collapse. _Hers_. Not his. Never his. This man’s stamina would outlast the very last crumbling brick in the Roman colosseum.

 

“ _Fuck_. No pussy should be allowed to taste this good...” He hums truthfully into her slippery thighs. Nipped pink-red from his hungry teeth.

 

His nails are stinging into her thighs and ass, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t feel it. Him inserting his big body between her thighs, tongue slathering perfectly all over her cunt is _all_ she can concentrate on.

 

“All fucking day. Kitten. I’ve wanted this pussy on my tongue all _fucking day_ long. Do you know how much it distracts me? Trying to concentrate on work and all I can seem to _want_ is your legs spread wide with my head between them.” He snarls into her. Spearing his tongue deep, then letting his spit, and her, string and drip over her clit as he circled it.

 

He dives his two fingers into her cunt and curls them as he rams into the spot inside her he’s _so_ come to favour. The one that always serves to make her pussy pour a wet stream over his fingers. He laps her clean afterwards and that’s the part he enjoys most. Sucking up her taste, as she spasms and cries out in tenderness. And that stinging grip of too much makes her squirm away. That makes him smile wide, teeth sharp and all, right against her overused cunt.

 

She’s arching back, trying to keep herself upright with a very bad man tonguing between her legs, when their cosy sex haze is shattered when she hears a knock rattle her front door.

 

Her toes curl. She watches Kylo’s eyes spring open, black depths rolling toward the open doorway to the hallway. His mouth pulls away, the barest scant centimetre, from his delicious wet pussy. He gives the door a glare that should’ve charred it to cinders in its frame.

 

If his mouth were unoccupied, Evie has a premonition he’d be _baring_ his teeth. When she tries to twist away, he clamps her hips harder. Not letting her leg slip off him. He pinned it to his shoulder. Keeping her there looking like a pinned cricket, shapely legs spread wide. _  
_

_“_ Kylo _-“_ She ushers weakly.

He turns his glare up at her like a stroppy child being sent to bed without his toys, or any supper. His eyes struck into hers like cold shards of frosted flint. Daring her to squeak up again. His lips nuzzle deeper into her, reminding her she’d been perched on the teasing knifes edge of a wildly great orgasm. He laps at her again. Essentially forbidding her to go to the door.

 

“I’m eating here...” He rumbles lowly. His tone too dangerous to consider being messed with.

 

There comes another knock. She makes a pitying face down at him.

 

“Flo _did_ say she’d pop over one night to collect some vegetables for donations towards the church food bank to feed the homeless...” She admits in a tiny interjection.

 

Kylo considers her for a second. Before he swallows and comes to his full, towering height. Arms caging her to the counter. That big chest, and the divots of his collarbone sheening sticky in sweat. The sun knots itself in his hair from the open door behind him. Tinting it that russet-rust.

 

“You get five minutes respite.” He warns lethally. Clipping his hips and his hard cock into her belly. Letting her feel his urgent need.

 

“Or I’m taking you over this counter again. House guest be damned. No one stops me from having _this_.” He explains. Wet fingers sliding slick through her pussy.

 

She gulps and shivers.

 

She crouches for her panties. To snatch them back on. He stabs them in place with the sole of his foot. When she looks up at him. His eyes are deadly black poison. He smirks.

 

With pink cheeks she heads for the door. Fluffing her hair and trying to tug her dress down. Leaving Kylo who sipped down her wine. One thick tatted arm braces on her countertop by her abandoned cooking. She doesn’t need to turn back to know that Kylo’s “ _come fuck me”_ eyes are stabbing her in the shoulder blades.

 

Air flowing cold against her bare sex. She hoped to _god_ there wasn’t a glaring obvious wet stain of dark scarlet at the back. She self consciously smoothed out wrinkles from her A line skirt and doesn’t think to check through the window before she opens the door wide.

 

Her smile drops from her face in fear. Her chest heaves, and that’s the only part of her that moves as her mouth gapes. Cheeks blushing hot.

 

Because stood there with his medallion gold hair, white smile, prim blue suit and charming eyes - with a bouquet and a bottle of Prosecco - his mind obviously still stuck on that one track thought of getting in her knickers. 

 

Was Jimmy. Her ex.

 

Evie didn’t take the lords name in vain often. But _holy Jesus fuck._ _  
_

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there’s more to come. Pun wholeheartedly filthily intended. I got all Hozier and arty with it (in case you didn’t notice) 
> 
> Trash piles getting quite big up in here now...


	22. Exes & Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. There be some real smug porn up in this one. Starts rough; ends sweet.
> 
> Once again; I’d like to dedicate the hugest of thanks to asnackdriver. My porn thot consultant/queen 👑 I’m gonna have to buy this gal a crown one day cause she’s more than earned it helping me along with this filth.

 

 

 

 

Her eyes blow wide and she steps out onto the porch. Pulling the door almost shut behind her as she walks outside to where he’s standing. He tries leaning in to take her hand but she snatched herself back.

 

 

“Jimmy. What on earth are you _doing_ here?” She pleads with him quietly. His megawatt smile falls.

_“_ Evie. _Look_ I’m really sorry. And I know you didn’t return any of my emails. I deserve that much. But I was alone tonight, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about you- and I just wanted to _see_ you.”

 

He explains in that tone of his that always managed to be _so_ winningly convincing. His face imitated to the perfect picture of tormented agony.

 

Only she was a wiser girl now. She knew better how to spot a prowling wolf in sheep’s clothing. Lying through his sharp gleaming teeth.

 

He reached out and hooked his free hand to her crossed arms. Her stance stiff, and she was glancing over her shoulder every other second, looking to the crack in the front door.

 

“This really isn’t a good idea. You need to _leave.”_ She hisses lowly and softly. She hoped he could read the panic in her eyes.

 

He frowns, and lumps the flowers and cooling champagne down on the grey wicker chair by her living room window where they’re both stood. She’s trying her best to crowd him away from line of sight, and earshot, of the kitchen.

 

If she stood out here much longer trying to hiss some sense into him. Kylo’s going to get suspicious.

 

He comes to her, closer, trying to take her hips into his hands. She steps back. Her spine flush against the house. She shuts her eyes in desperation. Trying to speak plainly.

 

“Eve, babe, _what_ is it? You seem awful tense...” He frets. Her hands clench harder where they’re still clenched across her chest.

 

She wants to scoff laughter at her reasoning for being so uptight.

 

She was trying to help the idiot from having his face bashed in. If Kylo’s record was any indication...

 

“Jimmy please. Please just _go- now!”_ She begs. Her face pulled into an expression of desperate agony. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, trying to turn him around. Making him go.

 

But would he budge? _Of course he wouldn’t._

 

He starts to frown. “What’s up with you? You’ve  _never_ been like this before?” He starts. Rooted to the spot. Stood by the porch banister, right at the top of the porch steps leading out into her garden.

 

“I didn’t answer the door when you last knocked.” She dares bravely. Her voice slipping into an icy tone.

 

He has the gall to know when to look ashamed. He runs a hand through his golden waves. Looking exasperated and _sorry?_

_“_ Look, I know I was the biggest fuck up to you. Leaving you like that, that morning, and I’m sorry. Ok? It was _really_ stupid of me.” He insists. Hand over his heart as he spoke eagerly of his penitence.

 

Evie shakes her head as she looks at him. “The flowers are lovely. But please just take them, and your apology and just please _go_.” She says sharply.

 

She goes to walk back into the house and shut him out. But he wasn’t having it. Again he tries to plead, not taking no for an answer tugging her by the waist, one armed, leveraging her into his chest.

 

“Jimmy-“ She pleads. She wants to sob.

 

“Babe, C’mon you remember all the _fun_ we used to have, huh?” He huskily intones into her ear.

 

She stands there, her chest rising and falling. Pushing out, and then tugging in her breasts through her scooped red neckline as she still hunched in on herself. Not letting any part get taken in by this walking, golden haired heartbreak. No matter how charming his blue eyes were. No matter how warm his smiles used to make her.

 

Key words being _used to._ Now her heart is already sold away to someone _darker_ altogether.

 

She doesn’t let herself get reeled closer by him. Doesn’t let his honeyed words - empty promises of love - fill her with warmth.

 

“Just... _leave_.” She says again. Succinctly.

 

“Why are you being like this?” He asked with a knifes edge of sharp anger undercutting his words.

 

“Mind if I cut in.” Booms Kylo’s bark from the other end of the porch. He’d slipped around the kitchen side door, around the wrap round porch to where they stood. How long he’s been stood there, drinking in their conversation, she doesn’t like to even begin to think about.

 

Evie shuts her eyes in dread.

 

Her throat dry. Lip trying in vain not to wobble. Tension strangling the air.

 

“Kylo-“ She begins. But Jimmy cuts her to the chase. His true nastier nature slipping free.

 

Her ex didn’t have the common sense to be rightfully terrified by the six foot wall of muscle and fury. Encased in designer grey and black. Slowly stalking towards them both down the porch with a face like poison, thunder and vile storms in his venomous dark eyes.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Jimmy pipes up. “Evie who is this?” He turns to her. Trying to touch her again. But she jerks away. Heart racing, chest pounding. Jimmy didn’t know what _danger_ he was in

 

“I could ask you the same fucking question.” Kylo snaps back. The other side of her front door now. Eyeing the scant space between them with vile hatred.

 

“Jimmy was just leaving.” She explains. Looking back to her ex with eyes like cerulean daggers.

 

When she glances back to Kylo he’s eyeing her with a look that makes her heart and lungs shrivel up in her chest like dead dry leaves in autumn.

 

“I’m her boyfriend.” Jimmy defends with his macho tough stance. Peacocking. Is what she’d rightly call it. Squares his blue suit shoulders, tries to get up in Kylo’s space and make him back off. Tries to crowd in front of her. Inbetween Kylo and her.

 

This couldn’t end well. Nothing did when Kylo got denied his rightful possessions. _His kitten._

 

Jimmys flashy show of dominance might have been impressive to her some time ago. When he’d been one of the only men she’d come to know. But know with Kylo, she’s seen what real brutality, and unfathomable danger looks like, and this is almost laughable in comparison.

 

Only she didn’t feel like laughing - she felt like she was going to witness something very ugly happen to Jimmy on account of Kylo’s unchained temper.

 

Kylo tilts his head. Suavely raising one brow. Evie’s breath shudders out shakily in fear.

 

“You’re her _boyfriend_ , huh?” Kylo asks with the start of an amused grin. His tone as mocking as it could be.

 

Jimmy starts to go red in the face. Getting irate and ugly. His shitty temper was never far away from surfacing. He goes to prod a finger into Kylo’s chest.

 

“Listen here, you _f-“_

 

But the colossal weight of Kylo’s furious body strikes so fast. Like a viper. It’s just a blur of black and blue to her.

 

She rushes and tries to stop Kylo pouncing. Clawing into his shoulder. His black shirt, where it gaped wide down his chest, slid a little across his tatted shoulder at her grappling fingers hooking into his shirt.

 

He’d yanked Jimmy’s collar, suit and shirt, and has pinned him to the porch banister with that infamous tanner folding knife of his. The silver gleaming in the sunlight off Jimmy’s scared cheek. His free hand grabbing the other side of his collar and lapel up, snarling.

 

Kylo would’ve been nose to nose with the guy. But he didn’t enjoy getting up and close with rich-brats-scum like him.

 

“No. You listen _dipshit_. If you’re her boyfriend. You’re a goddamn lousy one seeings as I’m the one whose been _fucking_ her senseless through her mattress for these past two weeks.” He growls lowly.

 

“Kylo...” Evie whimpers at his shoulder. Trying to tug his beefy arm back. He didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at her clamouring. His glare remains fixed on Jimmy’s terrified face. Eyes blown wide. Sweaty brow. Hands held aloft in surrender. _This guy was something else._

 

She watches her big, terrible man hunched tall over her philandering ex. She’s scared of what he might do.

 

“I just wanted to _talk_ to her.” Jimmy confesses in a snarl.

 

Kylo’s hand shoots up and wrings his neck.

 

“I call bullshit. I’m _more_ than familiar with the protocols of men like you, who _fuck_ anything with a wet place to put it. Why else turn up out the blue with champagne and flowers if you aren’t angling after her pussy.” He barks at the snivelling little creep. His hand squeezes tighter around Jimmy’s throat. He gasps for air.

 

“You’re a waste of skin. And I would disembowel you right the fuck here. If it weren’t out of respect for Evie and her home. I wouldn’t want her to struggle scrubbing your blood out of this _very_ nice porch floor.” Kylo growls.

 

Jimmy chokes in fear. Trying to squirm away. Only he _can’t_.

 

Then, he smirks. A chuckle leaves his lips as he darkly detects this idiots fear. _At last._

 

“I don’t know if you’d noticed the smell of her on my breath. Only I was tongue deep in her pussy when you showed up. So you can imagine how _impatient_ I am to get back to her sweet, _sweet_ cunt.” He whispers, half growls into his ear.

 

“You’re insane.” Jimmy gives out.

 

“Well done. First _believable_ thing you’ve said.” He smiles.

 

Before he steps back, yanks the knife out of her ex fuckers suit. Uncaring how much he tore the cheap thing. He steps back behind Evie and slides a protective hand over her hip. Nuzzling into her neck as he watched Jimmy scramble away for his dear life.

 

In doing this, he rucks up her red skirts, where his hands play across her thighs. Revealing the dark bruises he put there last night. Evie knew what he was trying to do. Let Jimmy _see_ the marks of his ownership branding her pale skin, stark, in mottled blue and green.

 

Very telling of how well and _often_ she’s being fucked at present.

 

She stands there. A mix of powerless and weak when Kylo presses soft plucking kisses into her neck. Jimmy had turned back to look from her garden. Like staring into the sun. It couldn’t be helped. He could barely tear his eyes away.

 

“Are you even safe around this lunatic Evie? He’s hurting you...” Jimmy calls back up the steps. Having seen her bruises.

 

Kylo chuckles into her skin. He bites and she shivers out a gasp.

 

“Trust me, I made her cum six times in a row in return for those. She gushed all _over_ my fucking fingers and still sobbed for more.” He leers across at the idiot. His hand sneaks down her dress and cups her pussy in his hand.

 

Kylo wants to kill him. He really does. He’s itching too. But he _wants her_ , far more. And such a show of violence in front of her wouldn’t get him that.

 

“No wonder you kicked him out baby. I would’ve done. Obviously couldn’t keep this _greedy_ pussy satisfied.” He grins. Letting light flicker off the incredibly sharp knife in his hand. He lets his fingers slip into her hot sex under her skirts.

 

He shoves two fingers to curl in. Lets them rest there. Hooking her into him. Curling up and making himself at home. She fights a moan with how his big fingers always split her open. Knuckles rubbing so divinely along her wet silk walls.

 

But he didn’t allow her deadbeat ex to see any of her gorgeous body or naked pussy. She was _his_ after all.

 

Jimmy stood transfixed in the garden. Wondering how in heaven and earth his sweet ex had come to know a guy like _this_.

 

“If you’re still standing there when I look up...” He mumbles dangerously between kisses. “I’m gonna have think twice about slitting your _worthless_ throat.” Kylo warns

 

_That_ does it. Jimmy scrapers away to his crappy car, and drives away at a breakneck speed.

 

Kylo’s watching the woods as the car that takes him away gets smaller and smaller until it’s a spec. He scrapes a biting kiss to her delicate collarbone.

 

“I’m not sorry. Kitten. The only way I could get that stubborn fuck to _listen_ to me....” He speaks out. Ebbing away her confusion over the situation.

 

“Showing him how much you enjoy having _my_ cock in you.”

 

She’s spun in his arms and walked up until her back stabs into the doorframe. Greedy hot hand on her hips. The other one still sinking two fingers into her hot tight pussy.

 

He starts ramming past his knuckles into her. His hand slamming into her cleft. Feeling her wetness squelch down his hand. Dribbling over his digits.

 

“Because of that blonde _prick_. I didn’t get to make you cum on my tongue.” He snarls in obvious regret and hatred. Sinking to his knees. Skirt tucked up, held to her tummy by his brute hand, her bottom and back shoved to the door like a doomed pinned insect stabbed out in a museum case. Held to ransom.

 

“You better fucking cum for me now.” He snarls, fingering her hard and torturing her clit with his mouth. Licking up the slick she’d lapped for him long ago. It stuck now to her thighs.

 

His fingers batter her. His tongue is _beyond_ ruthless. He doesn’t pump his fingers more than ten times and she’s already curling her toes, and orgasming loudly for him. Holding the doorframe behind her with both hands, nails digging into the wood. Head knocking the frame, and the metal lock is sharp and un-comfy against the back of her hip.

 

She gives him _plenty_ to lick up.

 

His cock is dripping syrupy slick in his trousers watching her squirt down his hand. Sagging against the door. He pins a thigh on his shoulder and laps her up loudly. Scraping sharp teeth over her whole sensitive pussy. Tugging on her clit when he pulls away. She’s now making noises like a wounded animal. Trying to squirm away. Out of the reach of his smirking mouth. He takes that as a good sign and chuckles a kiss onto her overstimulated, taut little clit.

 

He’s essentially abused her needy cunt into a spectacular orgasm. He’d almost bitten her clit. Sucked her labia how he wants. Shoved his fingers as deep in her pussy as he wants. She can’t overrule him. It all feels too amazing. Overpowering.

 

Tears flow from the corner of her eyes and now she’s shaking with it. Her thighs spasm weak. Hand over her mouth in shock that sex with him can feel this _damn_ good.

 

He chuckles as he finally slows his fingers and stops teasing out more cum from her. His digits go straight into his tongue. Tasting her all up. Feels it slip hot between the webbed join of his fingers.

 

He takes her naked hips in both his massive, talented, hands, one of them drenched much wetter than the other, it had to be said. And he runs his soaked lower face into her dripping cleft. Rubbing the scent of her all over. Over thigh and over abdomen. He’d be back there later. He wants the smell of her soaking into her skin for him to trail-blaze later with his lips.

 

“Tell me you need me baby. Tell me whose cunt this is. Who it _really_ fucking belongs to...” He mumbles into her. Teasing her now only with fingertips. His tongue lapping her clit as she spoke.

 

“God. Kylo it’s _yours_...it’s completely _yours._ ” She whines. Her thighs trembling with aftershock. She wouldn’t put it past him to give her another orgasm just to make her choke on that moan.

 

He rips his fingers out of her and she whines keenly at the loss of him. It aches. It leaves a gaping hole in her body, and it _hurts_.

 

He settles her spread legs on one hip, and hauls her away upstairs. He slams open her front door with one hand and doesn’t care that it’s left hanging open. He storms them upstairs, up onto the landing, rounding her bedroom doorframe he deposits her roughly onto the bed.

 

One hand chokes her neck as he braces a knee over her on the bed and looms. With his other hand, he grabs her neckline and rips downward. Buttons scatter like rain. Fabric rips in a violent _viiipppp_ sound, as he literally tears the clothes off her back.

 

He watches her tits bounce, her lithe hips and thighs jolt, and he’s eyeing up her pretty pussy as he discards her ruined dress and presses, runs a thumb through her to make her feel how wet she is.

 

He smirks. So wet. And all for him. “My _gorgeous_ pussy.” He hums. Sucking a love bite mashed with a kiss, to her lower belly. Up and up. His lips wandering over the crest of her tits. Kissing, licking her nipples. Tugging them with his teeth.

 

He holds his weight off her, and tucks his shirt up. Unbuttoning his fine shirt. Slipping out his belt. Going slow to make her wait. Make her anticipate him. Make her realise _how_ much she needs him. Slowly his divine body comes into view. That chiseled Michelangelo angels marble torso. Scrawled with demonic tattoos.

 

He slips his trousers and boxers down his hips. Lets them fall. Kicks off his fine shoes and socks. Coming back to her he leans in and let’s her feel when he rubs his veiny hard cock over her. Tantalising. Teasing. The calm before the storm.

 

His jaw is slack. Looking down at the red flushed places they’ll soon join together. Eyes greedy and scorching hot. His chest pounds with ragged breath. His impatient cock weeps against her skin. Leaving sticky smears all over her as he rubs his flushed cock-head up against her. His thick fist gripping the base of himself. Stroking idly a couple of times. Always made her stomach lurch in wanting. Seeing him stroke himself ready.

 

His fist felt good. But nowhere near as good as the way she felt.

 

He starts to sink into her. Just tempting her with the tip. Slowly letting her feel the long drag of his length as he plunges in. They both groan with the feeling of sheer bliss is spreads through them.

 

Stomach clenching. Toe curling. Mind numbing bliss.

 

She shuts her eyes and her hands grapple for the bedsheets. Kylo barks at her.

 

“No. Kitten. You look at me when you cum. You keep those blue eyes open and you look at me as I _fuck_ you.” He orders. Snarling through bared teeth.

 

Grabbing her throat. He violently slams himself right into her. Spearing her open. No time to let her even adjust.

 

No big fingers scissoring her wide. Ready to take him in. No curling digits up against her g-spot or sucking her clit til her cunt is a relaxed pretty mess for him to slide into.

 

Not this time. This time he was _claiming_ what’s his.

 

He rams in again and again. Holding his weight off her with his free arm as he fucks her downright feral. Keeping those blue eyes centred in his.

 

He groans as he circles his hips faster. Letting go of her neck, he pins both hands down behind her head. Better leverage to fuck deeper.

 

His sharp hipbones slam into her. His breath fans over her lips. And he’s going to crush her. He is crushing her. He’s so big, and beautiful and devastating that it feels like a hurricane above her. The desolation of her body and heart he leaves in his wake. Pleasure is peeling through her like bells reeling out harsh song. It echos. It goes on. It lasts for eternity.

 

His girth never got any the easier to handle. Especially not with the way he moves those hips tonight. Usually, he likes to test her with his length. Tease with it. Withdraw all the way out, just to make her _feel_ how long he is when he slides all the way back in and hammers her poor cunt senseless.

 

The way he moves is a thing of beauty - and it feels it too. He curves his back. Thrusts from his powerful hips and thighs. Grinds and fucks like a king. This is the first time he lets her feel him. Usually it’s a ruthless blur of pleasure and a hard thorough fuck to sweet completion.

 

Tonight it’s different. He moves different. Acts different. He’s, dare she say it, almost... _tender_ _._ _  
_

His hips slam the same. But he’s taking her in as he does. One hand leaves her wrists, his mitts big enough to cradle them in one. He stroked her hair, cups her face. Watches her cute expression change with the different ways he plows his hips.

 

“Tell me you’re mine, Kitten. I _need_ to hear you say it. _Tell me.”_ He husks. Tasting her neck. Sucking sweet kisses under her jaw.

 

His tone of voice makes her stomach and walls clench around him. He spits out a curse as it does. Shutting his eyes for a second. Letting the bliss run through his body.

 

“There’s no one else but you.” She answers timidly. He slows for a second. His lit gunpowder eyes flitting, searching hers for her sincerity.

 

She offers it all up to him. He can’t _resist_ taking it.

 

He slams his body down into hers. He grips her hair. Mashed his mouth to hers and gave the most bone-melting, powerful kiss he’s ever granted her. He growls in pleasure onto her lips, and it makes her weak. One hand of hers lets go to rake down his back with the immensely amazing way they’re fucking.

 

Pleasure pours through the both of them. Kylo loves the sting of her nails stinging in his pale inked back. Digging like little knives into his shoulder blades as his body rolls. He locks her thigh over his back and resumes their hot kiss.

 

She’s suffocating him in the most perfect way. She’s tight. Wet. Beautiful. _Perfect_. Too good for a man like him. And she’s eclipsing his dark nature with her sunny sweetness. Her body’s sucking him in and not letting him free. For the first time in his life, he can be weak for something. He likes being powerless to the gut-tug of her lust.

 

“ _Oh_ Kylo...” She whines in ecstasy. Her blue eyes caught in his granite coloured ones.

 

“That’s it. Kitten. Take me. Come on. Take me _deep_ like I know you need.” He growls. Lazily palming one breast. Feeling it’s soft velvet touch crushed under his big brute hand.

 

Her leg is rigid on his back and she’s whining so loud now. Little kitten mewls ring in his ears that signalled she wasn’t far off cumming.

 

He grins. Pulling out slowly, looking down where they’re meeting to see his very hard, very thick red cock glistening with the satiny white spread of her arousal. Evie can see how it throbs and pulses against her folds as he drags and slicks it into her body. Making her gasp.

 

Her gasp gets shattered when he plunges into the hilt again. She doesn’t throw her head back, she keeps her eyes trained on him - as he’d told her too.

 

“See how your pussy wants me. Kitten. No one else will ever do what _I_ can do to you. No one can ever fuck you _this good.”_ He says as he starts to saw his hips into her again. His cock prodding at places that no other man has ever dared find.

 

“I don’t want anyone else...” She tells weakly when he comes low again and kisses her neck. On the home straight himself, judging by the way his pace picked up slightly. “I want _you_.” She moans. Locking eyes with him. Keeping them that way.

 

He grabs her by the neck and kisses her. Only pulling back to pant against her lips and watch her pretty face as she cums _all over_ him. He follows her not a second after. Wet sloppy sounds signalling the finish of their loud, messy fuck. Spurting inside her. Some of him pouring out and dribbling down his dick onto her cleft.

 

He fucks her through hers, and then his. And doesn’t stop til he’s completely spent of every last drop.

 

He sags into her. Cunt so hot and clenched around his cock in the way that he _adores_. They’re both, as usual, a sticky sweaty mess. Bodies tacked together. Hearts racing in sync. Breathing pounding from exhausted, blissed out lungs. Evie thinks that the sight of a blissed out Kylo might just be her favourite sight of all-

 

His cheeks stain pink. Lips a ruddy red. Hair strung to his forehead in raven tamped strings. Big shoulders swelling as he breathes. Arms bunched by his sides. He ravaged her lips with teeth and kisses before he pulls up and off her. Pulling them to be lengthways, rather than width ways on her creaky old bed.

 

She’d changed the sheets again. Today was a red rosebud on off white print. Dotted with green polka dots. The spreading coral red petals Kylo thought matched the exact colour of her nipples. Which were currently under his hands, being tweaked and stroked as he tucks her spent little body between his spread legs and hoists the quilted embroidered bedspread over the pair of their clammy bodies.

 

She nestled against his thighs. Back to his chest. His thick trunk legs twined with hers like old knotting vines. They’d been laying spent in the afterglow so often it’s a position that feels natural to them. Second to the feeling of his cock stuffing her cunt to the brim.

 

Evie snuggles against his tattooed stomach. Feeling his hot slippery skin under her cheek. A trace of his soap and gorgeous cologne under her nose. An ochre evening still blazes away outside the window. Red rust sunshine glinting off the panels of glass from her bedroom windows. She lazily opens her eyes and listens to the skylarks swoop and chirp as the cool of evening draws in.

 

Kylo’s looking down at his little kitten curled up in his lap. She nearly _purrs_ when he gently stroked fingers through her scalp, feeling the soft toffee-russet tresses combing by his fingertips.

 

She can’t easily trample the weight of worries that come rushing down on her like a jolt of red hot lightning. The usual fretting and fussing that kicked off in her head after it stopped paving the way for his making her orgasm.

 

She traces her finger around the velvety black panther prowling around his ribs. Teeth bared. Claws free. She stroked over its tail and tries to formulate the words before they make it past her teeth.

 

Kylo can feel her overthinking.

 

“ _Spit_ it out, Kitten.” He tells her. She winces. Thighs sticky when she sits up to face him, swivelling around on her knees to look behind. Trying to keep the sheet covering her. Shuffling around bit by bit.

 

Kylo rolls his eyes. Smiles. And hoists her into his lap. Sitting her on his still hard cock, trapped to his belly. Spreading her astride his meaty thighs. Naked as the day she was born.

 

His hands on instinct, cup her round little ass and thumbs brush her wide hips. Stroking his caresses of ownership like a the proud man he was.

 

Her cheeks redden as he gleefully takes in her always pretty, naked body. She hair tucks before she speaks. Balancing daintily on his lap like she was about to ride him like a dime store pony. She shifts her knees to get comfy. He does love, beyond all measure, the sight of her little body cradled, lost, on his big one.

 

“It’s- a _very_ out of the blue, question...” she warns. Idly skimming a fingertip around his left nipple ring. It glinted a flickering silver, the Tiffany hoop that hung from the oval disc of his nipple.

 

They both feel his cock leap when she accidentally tugs a little in her innocently tracing it. Her hand flies away and he smirks more. “Before you get me horny again, doing that, you better ask your question.” He warns lustfully.

 

She swallows nervously. _Now_ or _never._ _C_ _arpe_ _Di_ _em_ _._ _  
_

_“_ Am I the only woman you’re seeing?” She gets out weakly. “Because I realise we never got around to talking about exclusivity. And I _never asked._ You could’ve been married, had a wife, or had a girlfriend and I-“ She rambles.

 

He stops her with the way his smile twitches. He tugs her closer. So her slick pussy slips right over his cock. Making her groan a sudden soft “ _Oh_.”

 

“I’m not married. I don’t have a girlfriend. _You_ are the only woman I’m seeing. And if I’m not here with you. I’m at work, too busy setting up my company to even suggest seeing another girl. Plus I’m _more_ than satisfied with what I _have here_.” On his last word, he palms her ass and lets it snap back, jiggling into place.

 

Her heart does a little happy skip. Like an elated baby bunny.

 

“Does that answer your question?” He smirks lightly. His eyes shifting more silver and black in the dim light of her bedroom. Like dusty black, dull coins.

 

She nods. Smiling. Placing a hand on his weighty solid sternum, she leans in and presses a cute kiss to the side of his cheek. Feeling the scar there puckering the fine plane of his shaved skin.

 

He doesn’t let her pull back. Now she’s practically on all fours in his lap. His hand comes up to stroke his big thumb down the side of her face and jaw. He watches her. Eyes assessing her in the same way they always used to in prison. Glittering with activity.

 

“You don’t know what you _do_ to me, Evie. Not only do you make me crawling desperate with need. But when I’m around you, you make me feel _calm_. And that’s so fucking _rare_. Very few times in my life have I felt that.” He speaks softly.

 

Her face looks earnestly shocked. She’d never any clue she makes him feel anything other than lust. She can scarcely begin to imagine what never feeling calmness or serenity must be like. She struggled to find the appropriate response to that. Knowing full well it can’t have been easy for him to say.

 

“Thank-you. For sharing that.” She smiles meekly. He can see she really meant it. Full eye contact and a winning glad smile split her lips. It made his proud to think he’s made her happy - in a way that didn’t for once, involve fucking.

 

“I’m afraid I have _yet_ another question.” She pipes up. Settling back on her knees. Hands resting on his ribs. He silently awaits it with a curious tilt of his head.

 

“There’s an open air movie in town on Friday. An annual event. This year they’re showing ‘Rear Window’ and I wondered, if it’s your thing, if you’d want to go with me? Maybe as a _date?”_ She asks _._ Averting her eyes as she asked. Fingers trailing along the ridge of his ribs.

 

“They do it up really nice. There’s lanterns everywhere. And everyone sits on the grass on picnic blankets, and brings a hamper. I’ll cook - of course _uh,_ you can get red vines, popcorn and milk duds at the intermission. I ugh, Just didn’t know if you’re, _interested?”_

She’s been sat on her single sad rug for too many years. With a bottle of wine to herself, eating her way through two boxes of milk duds til her teeth got all sticky. Stabbing pains in her heart and stomach making her get drunker, and sadder as she clocked the making out couple two rugs over. Her mood sour with the fact she had no-one to snuggle up too when it got cold. No big handsome man to share her rug with.

 

She brings her eyes up to his face, and sees he’s smirking.

 

“I’ll buy the popcorn.” He grins. She blinks at him.

 

“You wanna go with _me?_ ” She checks. It still shocks her that this intensely gorgeous man willingly goes out with her, when he could just as easily have a six foot, leggy supermodel dangling like a bauble off his arm.

 

Here he was, this fallen angel of a man, settling for a squat, five foot three, untamed haired, librarian, with chunky thighs.

 

“Of _course_ I do kitten. Have to show those nosy old biddies in town that you’ve got a man in the house now.” He winks. “It’s a date.” He tells.

 

Evie’s mouth gapes. “If you happen to be accosted by a woman called Flo. _No_. I don’t know her. And run away _fast_.” She warns.

 

Then it occurs to her, the whole damn town will be there. Every curtain twitching biddy, nosy Parker and friend, or foe, will be sticking their noses in to ‘welcome’ Kylo into the folds of the community.

 

_Oh dear._ _  
_

_~_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unleash those thots; lay em on me...


	23. Dates & Exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Obviously in the next part of this, Kylo is going to do something naughty with his fingers after they both have more wine. That’s a personal punk promise.
> 
> And I’d like to put in a special word to those of you who’ve kept on commenting like the absolute angels you are ; MythalGivesYouDreams, terry012227, eralsparade, OhOkayGrey, Fog_in_the_garden, Crackerrre, preciousorgans (btw best of luck with your exams dear! Go smash it you brilliant babe)  
> TheFireInHerEyes, Flutter_Field, Leaderren, SarineCassius, Sololover1973, Yolandere96, Slmrlo306, The_Strange_Bee, TygerMane and if there’s anyone I’ve forgotten then I’m sorry but have a whole heapful of these ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Cause I so dearly love every comment this gets. It’s honestly the nicest thing to read in my inbox and see those numbers go up knowing you guys are enjoying it xoxoxox I couldn’t be more grateful, and could not ask for more darling readers than you all (Anon, guest, named or otherwise)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She stood alone, on the muggy summers day. On a sun and shade freckled pavement. Under a spreading magnolia tree. Feeling the air kiss her skin. Rustle her hair and earrings.

 

Her arms were laden with a heavy picnic hamper. Filled with a bottle of her Grans favoured red wine, and two glasses. She’d baked brownies for them to share. Only she’d cheated slightly and bought two loaded club sandwiches from Frank’s deli in town. Smiling meekly when the elderly proprietor and namesake of the business himself, asked her if she would be ‘ _copping a squat’_ tonight at the open air movie. She said she wouldn’t miss it - _and_ she was bringing a date this year. It would be a Picnic rug for two.

 

“ _Well how ‘bout that_.” He proclaimed with raised brows and an impressed wrinkled smile.

 

By now that would’ve been spread all around town by folk like wildfire in the dry season.

 

She’d dashed home to change after work. One of her more expensive sundresses. Deep sapphire blue. Bohemian style with short flute sleeves. Embroidered with brilliant white, pink, red, turquoise and yellow flowers. All flowers stitched together with emerald vines. The skirts were pleated and flowy, shifting when she moved. Her silver earrings were dangly and kept tangling with her hair. Her shoes were unremarkable wedge sandals. A grass picnic wasn’t an ideal venue for tall stabby heels.

 

She’d barely had the time to dry her hair and slick on some makeup. Namely mascara and pink rosebud lipstick, and she had to be off out the door. Grabbing rugs and couple of cushions too. Hard ground wasn’t easy to sit on for three hours straight.

 

And here she was, waiting expectantly for her dashing date to meet her where they’d arranged. She stood with her arms encumbered by the heavy wicker basket slung over one. The blanket rolled up tucked under one armpit. A bag of cushions hooked off opposite shoulder in a tote bag. The breeze whipping her skirts about her legs.

 

She chewed her lip nervously. Watching the town busy-bodies gaggled in the far distance. Most likely speculating on who she was waiting for. Or if she was going to the movies alone - _again_. Some of the ladies meant well and would try and shove and shoehorn grandsons, nephews and cousins in her direction. Some of them just wanted to meanly judge _everyone_ around them.

 

There was a group of the latter stood in their pastel dresses, Sunday best, long skirts, or pants and fancy summer blouses. With their own hampers in hand, and their blue rinses all identical, ringlet curls on their heads. Evie tried to ignore the way she felt their eyes on her as she stood waiting.

 

She knew what they were thinking; “ _Poor girl. Alone again. No man on her arm this year.”_

Clearly they weren’t on the grapevine for her _news_...

 

“Always alone. Poor thing.”

 

“Never brings a date does she?”

 

“She’s been practically on her own since the day her momma died, so I hear.” _  
_

She pretends she can’t hear their snide whispers and obvious pointing, and lets herself admire the spreading blossoms above her head as she waits patiently. She watches their petals flutter and shiver on the hot wind that ruffled its branches.

 

She almost drops everything she’s holding when a big hot hand sears through her dress, reaching from behind to grab her hip. His arm brackets her ribs from his hold, and it’s then she detects a great drift of _delicious_. Expensive citrus and spice teasing her senses, and making her body flush with awareness over who that singular luxury scent belonged too. Her stomach tenses, giddy with great stupid fluttery butterflies.

 

She bites her lip, eyes shut and sighs a smile. He lovingly strokes her hip. She smelt like honey and vanilla. As always, even the scent of her teased him into the first stirrings of arousal.

 

“You look real fucking pretty tonight, Kitten.” Comes a dark grin into her ear. She turns around - not easily. Weighted down with baskets, wine, their dinner and a shoulder full of pillows.

 

She turns about and sees that she could level, in turn, that compliment _right_ back to him.

 

He’s wearing an immaculate white button down. With a chunky Tag Huer drivers watch, that glints sunshine and reeks of money, off his tattooed wrist, where his sleeves are pushed up. His trousers are a pair of black, casual fit jeans that look almost near velvet. They sit low on his trim hips.

 

She fancies if the sun shone brighter, she’d be able to define every single tattoo under his transparent shirt. His nipple rings push up for attention too. Their silver shine dulled, chafing on the material of the tight shirt when he moves. There’s a pair of relaxed Barbour lace up boots on his feet.

 

It’s endearing how much her heart swirls up in gooey warm happiness when she sees him.

 

“Well. May I say, you look _very_ lovely too.” She beams up at him as he stands there, smelling irresistible, and looking _twice_ as so with his hands contentedly in his pockets. As the wind flounces with his hair. He could’ve a poster boy for GQ or Vogue. So ruggedly handsome it makes her abdomen go all foolish and squirmy with the unbelievable fact he’s here to date _her_.

 

He smiles gently down at his Kitten. Her heart does something like a category four whirlwind in her chest.

 

There comes a louder gaggle of gabbling speculation from her not-so-far-off crowd of admirers. Only she hazarded a guess they weren’t admiring _her_ , anymore. Kylo like this was a feast on the eyes for anyone, and everyone with _half_ a brain.

 

His omnipotent eyes flicker over her head, face veiled to the stoic mask he used to sport in prison. Evie watched his cool granite eyes drink in the townsfolk gossiping behind them.

 

“Friends of yours?” He asks with a drawn back smile, as he moves to unburden her of some of her heavier items. The way he said the word ‘ _friends’_ let her know instantly of his irony.

 

“Small town. People gossip for sport around here. They’ll be shocked that me, the perennial _spinster_ , is at long last turning up with a date to a town shindig.” She smiles in humble humour at herself. Folding the rug into her arms as he holds the weighty hamper.

 

She’s awfully nervous for this evening - despite all they’ve shared, seen, _done_ , to each other and this is the moment that’s making her shiver with nerves. The two of them, out in public, kitted out for a picnic date.

 

All whilst being studied and stared at like specimens under a microscope, by the entire population of a small southern town. _That should take the pressure off_ _nicely._

 

Kylo’s stature and aura of deliciously dark danger was attracting attention already. He stood tall, and didn’t go unnoticed by all. Evie saw whispers flourish, elbows into ribs. She frowned when she saw one woman clutch her children close and scurry off quickly down the pavement. Old ladies too, kept firm grasps on their handbags as they tottered by him. He was an errant source of fascination; this dangerous looking dark outsider.

 

“In that case. I was remiss not to give you a _proper_ greeting...” He smarts. If people were gonna watch him and examine him like some exotic zoo animal, he’d be sure to leave them one _hell_ of a lasting impression

 

His Raisin d’être for being here with Evie, subject to all their speculation, became set right and plain as day to everyone gawping in, when he stands the hamper at his feet, steps forwards, grabs an almighty handful of that ass and kisses her like the dirty man he is. Tongue and all.

 

She startled a little against his chest. One hand pressing to his pec, the other stroking to hook over his shoulder as she reached on tiptoes to lose herself in his kiss. He feels her smile and it makes his own smirk grow. _Especially_ as he pinched her ass too. She squeaks into his mouth.

 

The kiss made her nipples ache _hard_ _._ Begging for his hands or teeth around them. It also got her panties ready to drip.

 

The kiss had whetted both their appetites. She digs her hips into him. He bites her lip. Trying to refrain from further dirtiness.

 

He was resisting the inclination to tug her by the skirts to his Aston he parked not far away. Get her in his lap and fuck her stupid in the drivers seat - that wouldn’t be an advised impression for him to make in her town. And it would be a waste of the picnic she’d put together.

 

Still in one another’s arms he pulls away to speak. Big hand skimming he ass cheek as his love bitten lips go to her ear. Plump. Rosy. _Sinful_.

 

“They _still_ looking?” He asks. Nuzzling her throat. Her earrings and hair dragging across his lips. His voice dipped several octaves below deathly gorgeous, to hear. Even this man’s voice was dangerous.

 

Evie’s too blissed out to respond properly. “Is who looking?” She smiles contented. He chuckles a little at her answer. Feeling her fingers rake through his hair. Her nails dragging his scalp.

 

Kylo links both hands to join at her lower back. Holding onto the backs of her hips. Bodies stretched to press together.

 

“Better keep it on this side of R-rated before they report us for public indecency.” Evie says with an amused smile. She watches his grow too.

 

“A single man, kissing a single woman.... Why the _depravity_.” Kylo mocks. One tongue tangling kiss with his kitten, and he was at risk of being thought as an unholy sinner.

 

_They needed a memo that that particular ship sailed long ago. Why_ _I_ _f only they knew of his true depravities. They’d run screaming..._

She laughs at his joke before he swoops down and presses another kiss to her eager mouth. Teeth nip her lip this time. She smiles into him, and clutched onto his shirt where it wrinkled at his ribs. The material felt like the most heavenly cotton she’s ever touched. Knowing him, it was a shirt that had cost more than her car. With the way it felt underhand she understood why. She can only imagine how glorious it must feel rasping against bare skin. That naughty thought makes her thighs clench.

 

She also thinks how _glorious_ he looks when he peels those thousand dollar shirts off. A shame really. He spent so much looking good in them, when actually he looked far more, absolutely mouth-watering, in his stripping them _off_.

 

“You’re in a small town now. Mr Ren. Disapproving eyes and ears lurk at every turn...” She tells him in good humour.

 

There’s a flirty look in his eyes that she reads as his statement of not caring about that one _bit_.

 

“Good thing I’m a man who doesn’t care much what others think...” He grins huskily.

 

“I wouldn’t be shocked or surprised if they’re over here shaking their _bibles_ at you in a minute.” She warns in a joke. He smirks onto her throat. It’s curling press lost into her skin.

 

When he cups he ass, _hard_ , again. Grinding hips together. They both hear one of the old biddies around them gasp with horror. Gasping out at such a brazen display of _perversion_. Kylo revels in it. He side eyes the gaggle of judgemental old dragons and leans in to kiss at Evie’s neck to make her shiver.

 

“Let them break out the _fucking_ holy water if they want too, Kitten. I’m too busy having my wicked way with you.” He smiles like the devil. Oddly enough.

 

A short staccato bark burst forth from the crowds around them. Chiding the group of onlookers.

 

“ _Oh_ shut your pie hole, Pearl. You’re acting as if you ain’t never seen some innocent over the clothes action before. Honestly. One ass grab and you’re screeching for an exorcist - you stuffy prude.” There then comes a scoff of derision.

 

“They’re young, active and full of hormones. Not that you can remember what being young and in love feels like... you bitter _, dusty old_ bag of elbows.” Insults the same voice. They again, open their mouths in horror at the harsh insults.

 

They try to proclaim the higher ground. But Flo is having _none_ of it.

 

“Go swivel. You judgemental pack of harpies. _Winslow_. You let go of that, fine assed young man, and get in the hell over _here!”_ She demands. And Flo was she who _must_ be obeyed

 

Evie had pulled away, embarrassed, at Flo’s first outburst. Her cheeks blushing. She awkwardly fluffs her hair. Hair tucks. Looking up at him timidly after she stepped back. He likes how pink her cheeks heat with something so simple as their being caught kissing. Like they were in a convent. Like he was the devil tempting and _ruining_ an innocent into debuachery.

 

_Well_... He indeed rescinds that earlier remark about ships, and having long since sailed.

 

Kylo turns his head, lips sore from the absence of her, to see the short little old woman tottering towards the pair of them with a walking cane in one hand and a basket in the other. Her steps laboured from the heaviness of the picnic hamper swaying in her other bony hand.

 

He took in the little woman marching like a hell fury toward them. Turquoise Capri pants on her prominent old hips. White sliders on her feet. Immaculate painted pink toenails to match her pink rinse hair. Up in her usual tamed beehive. On her top half was a green striped top and a salmon pink cardigan. A little diamanté dragonfly broach glimmers off her chest.

 

Kylo can discern from her barky tone and whacky sense of fashion, and keen spitfire spirit, that this pink and green clad lady was the infamous Flo he’d been forewarned about.

 

She comes close and her perfectly painted deep scarlet lips pull back to show a brilliant straight white, Colgate smile. Kylo could see from the simple beauty in her ageworn face, the sparkle in her eye, had meant she’d been a handsome woman in her youth. She had brilliantly blue eyes, made up with shadow and mascara. He notices her face wasn’t as wrinkled as some of the old bags she was growling at. She had hardy skin that still managed to look beautiful. And there was beauty to be found in old age - skin translucent, pale, soft, filled with veins and marked with the lines, creases and age of a rich, full life.

 

Flo’s face was one that was weathered from too many smiles. He’d be lucky to have that in his old age. A pang sticks in his gut like a shiv when she reminds him of his own jovial, sturdy grandmother. He’d long since buried her. But he missed that plucky spit of fire.

 

“Heya Sugar.” Flo winks to Evie. Before she turns her attention on Kylo. She stabs her cane into the ground for emphasis. She scans him up and down.

 

“My _goodness_.” She chuckles, this big dark man was soft on the eyes. She drank him in. There was too much gorgeousness for the human eyeball to take in all at once.

 

“You certainly cut a dash young man. _Holy hell_. They don’t make many like you anymore.” She flirts gently with him. Scarlet lips forming a perfect smile.

 

“Flo, this is Kylo. My _uh_ , date. Kylo this is Flo. For my sins - she’s my dearest friend and surrogate grandma.” Evie smiles.

 

“Nice to meet you Flo.” He greets. His eyes still drawn back. His smile soft.

 

“Kylo. Goodness. What an extraordinary name...” Flo remarks. “An exceptional name for an _exceptional_ man.” She winks at him. Once again devouring the sight of his broad arms and chest through his tight, thin shirt.

 

“I must say. You look like trouble with a capital T...” She beams. “Good. _She_ needs some of that.” Flo says. Wagging a bony finger towards Evie.

 

“ _Flo_.” Evie chides. Cheeks red.

 

Kylo finds himself chuckling.

 

“Evie did tell me all about you.” He smiles lightly. Not letting go of his stroking on Evie’s hip as they stood.

 

“Only the very worst I hope.” Flo intones cheekily. Leaning into them both.

 

“Now, you’ll forgive my brazenness. But you look like you got a _lovely_ strong pair of arms on you, young man, would you care to help this old bag of bones out?” Flo asks him, staggering forwards with the weight of the heavy basket in her hand.

 

“Yes ma’am.” Kylo sweeps in and relieves her frail arms of their heavy burden. Swooping it up as if it were nothing. He wouldn’t like to see this sweet woman injure herself.

 

Flo’s other arm is taken by Evie, hooking her elbow to her friends. Her hip must’ve been playing up again. Hence the cane. Which was odd Evie thought, it never usually started giving her trouble until the winter months crept in. The first chill of autumn and that affected Flo’s bones.

 

“Shall we go pick our spot kids? Otherwise all the good places’ll go.” Flo asks. Patting Evie’s hand and setting off a pace that was surprisingly fast for an elderly person encumbered by a cane. Evie and Kylo stride slowly along, flanking the short matriarch in the middle.

 

“Where’s Arthur Flo? Couldn’t he have helped you on with your hamper?” Evie asks curiously.

 

“ _Oh_ I sent him along ahead to scope out a good spot. Last year we got stuck behind the Coopers. They yammered on through the whole dang thing.” She gruffs.

 

“I see...” Evie smiles. Hint of suspicion in her tone.

 

They both stop when Flo suddenly wavers in her steps. She huffs lightly. Swaying on her feet. Evie guides a hand to her back as they come to a stop. “You alright?” Evie seeks quickly as she clutches onto Flo’s arm in worry. She looked like she was going to keel over.

 

“Might need to borrow another one of _those_ strong arms sweetie.” She asks Up to Kylo. He shifts the baskets onto one arm and right away, gladly leans down to hook her arm into his.

 

Flo makes an impressed face of ‘ _Well, isn’t this lovely’_ over at Evie.

She hooks her pale little hand onto his sturdy arm. Stroking the muscle and tattoos with a strong pat. Marvelling at his Grecian god-like stature. They continue along. There were a fair few stares, and gossips around them. Burning in their backs like flames scorching holes in paper when they passed. Flo was well known throughout town. And here she was, tottering along on this massive dark strangers arm. Of _course_ people stared. _  
_

 

“Now. Tell me a bit more about yourself dear...” Flo smiles sunnily up at Kylo. He can’t resist that curious, kind smile. The warm soft sentiment, the enquiry of a grandmother.

 

Evie swoops in gently to help him.

 

“Kylo’s just set up his own architecture firm. He’s the CEO...” She tells Flo proudly. Flo looks up at him brows raised in admiration. Kylo’s eyes glimmer warm at Evie with the pride he hears in her tone.

 

“That must be a mighty _big_ job.” Flo says with dread. Picking her cane along the ground with a soft clack.

 

“It is. But I’ve been in the industry for years. It was an opportune time to strike out on my own.” He explains. “At the moment it’s mostly about buttering up investors and shareholders. And setting up my head office.” He says.

 

“Where are you set up sugar?” She asks.

 

“West 85th. The old railway factory.” He tells.

 

“I love that old building.” Evie pipes up. Looking across at him.

 

The building in question was a giant big stone deco frontage downtown. Big windows, glass ceiling atrium. Towering steps to the front door. It had been on sale for years. Being restored by a man like Kylo let Evie knew he wouldn’t tear down any of its features. But rather he’d enhance them. Fill the big space with new innovation and business again. She was glad that he was giving it a new lease of life - she hoped it did the same for him in return.

 

“As of Monday it becomes the new site offices for R&R Enterprises.” Kylo explains.

 

“Gorgeous and rich. Good going girl. Especially with these nice big muscles to hold onto.” She beams at Evie. Nudging her in the ribs with her elbow.

 

“Behave yourself.” Evie says back with pink cheeks.

 

“With this body about? _No_ chance.” She flirts. Kylo smiles.

 

“I see Evie was right to warn me about you. Flo.” Kylo’s flirting back with her. Smiling.

 

“ _Oh_ honey. She wouldn’t have done my wickedness justice.” Flo tells.

 

“Mine neither.” Kylo flirts a darkly seductive look across at Evie. She bites her lip and blushes more.

 

The wind ruffles hot over them as the three of them come to the grassy bank, sloping to look down over the movie theatre in the small park just off main street. It was tiny. But the whole town crammed into it each year. A few couples and families already had their blankets spread on the vast shimmering emerald lawn ahead. The sun seemed to echo ochre off every blade of grass like an ocean of copper pennies - the sky turning blue swiping into streaking peach overhead. Kylo can smell butter popcorn and magnolias from the trees, as the kindly breeze washes over him.

 

Kylo helps Flo to carefully pick her way down onto the grass. Strong muscles bunching and flexing as he moved. Evie felt her cheeks heat as people really started to gawp at them now. Flo lead Kylo down that lawn completely fearlessly. With the same tone of pride as if she was walking her own son down the aisle on his wedding day.

 

People would’ve approached to bid the most popular woman in town hello. But Kylo’s image was making them wary, Evie could tell. Flo bids hello’s everywhere. To every face she knows. Chirping and trilling like tweetie pie. Introducing Kylo to all her old biddy friends. The less venomous ones lurked hereabouts.

 

Evie follows, fighting a snigger in the wake of old ladies cooing and fussing at his muscles or tattoos, or his height. Or how strong he looked. But she watches him smile and interact friendly with everyone he’s introduced too. Of course, she didn’t expect any less of him. He may have been sociopathic - but he could charm every sparkling star down from its cozy place in the blue heavens if he so chose too.

 

Evie settles their rug on a yet unclaimed patch of ground near Flo’s gaggled gang of grannies. She stretched out the rug, rolling it open for them. Nudging away the wrinkles with her foot. She pushes out the corners and stand her bags down on their picnic spot. Unpacking the pillows and scattering them across the blanket so they both wouldn’t get sore backs.

 

She’s knelt down sorting out her baking tin full of brownies, when she feels him wander back over. His trouser clad knees in her eyeline. Flo is still hooked to his arm. And Evie watches as she waits. She even had him help unfolded her camping chair, and set her hamper down within arms reach.

 

“I thought I’d better return this handsome young man to you, Evie. Or else I might steal him away for myself.” She jokes. Evie grins.

 

“Arthur wouldn’t be too keen on that.” She says with a grin.

 

“Come by when you’re next in town dear. I insist on it. Have her bring you over for dinner and a whiskey. My lazy sons are out of state and I could use such muscles around the house to do things Arthur ain’t got the stamina to any more.” Flo urges. Patting his solid chest.

 

Evie ignored the very obvious double entendre of that comment and smiles at Flo.

 

She was only sat two picnic blankets away, but she had some friends to chat with and Evie didn’t want to interfere - actually she rather favoured they’d be sat speculating _them_ , the first date, new couple, rather than paying any attention to the film itself.

 

“I’ll be sure to come visit.” Kylo tells her seriously. Smiling as he gently sets down Flo’s hand. He stands the hamper down beside Evie and takes his place beside her.

 

“Enjoy the film lovebirds. No funny business in the dark now. Ya hear...” She grins. Eyes twinkling at them both.

 

They hear the clack of Flo’s cane as she walks away - surprisingly quickly. Off across the grass with a spring in her step. Hollering for a dirty iced tea that her friends had ready.

 

Evie gently touches Kylo’s knee. “Not too traumatised I hope?” She enquires, unpacking their picnic. Taking out the wine glasses and bottle of Pinot Noir.

 

He covers her hand with his massive one. Twining their fingers together on his thigh. “She’s great. And she obviously cares about you a great deal.” He says with a firm look in his eyes.

 

“She’s the closest thing I have left to family.” Evie says as she brings out their sandwiches and chips.

 

Kylo looks over his shoulder at the old woman. Who sat sipping dirty iced tea with her friends as they cackled heartily about something.

 

“She reminds me of my grandma...” He says gently. She’d been the sweetest soul alive. She was the only one in his family that gave a damn about him, and Ben. His parents weren’t the caring sort. He often wonders if their lack of nurturing or any sort of parental instinct made him the way he was. Cold. Calculating.

 

His gran took in both boys whenever she had the chance. She loved unconditionally. Wholly. Made Kylo see there were good types of love in the world. His own parents skirted so close to divorce so many times. But they never seemed to settle on it. Always both too busy. Him and Ben were left to their own devices for much of their childhood. The day they lost her, Kylo drew into himself and he didn’t come back out. His anger festered and it did still. He’d lost the one person on earth who’s ever given him the time of day. Made him feel worthwhile.

 

Evie smiles at his fond memory and who Flo reminded him of. “My Gran was her best friend. The Apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that respect.” She smiles. Screwing a travel corkscrew into the wine to open it. The two gleaming glasses stood waiting on the makeshift table of a cake tin lid. She opens it with a pop and pours them both a small tipple of scarlet red wine.

 

She hands him a glass and he takes it. Leant back on one arm. She smiles demurely as she takes a sip. Humming pleasantly at the taste of it. It was a good vintage, Kylo thought. Evie’s gran clearly was something of a wine connoisseur.

 

She opens another Tupperware box lined with paper rose napkins and offers him the contents. A swirl of bitter cocoa and salty dark chocolate hit his nose. “Brownie?” She tempts. He accepts plucking a fat wedge of the gooey cake from her offering.

 

“You know as you did the cooking, that the intermission candy is on me, Kitten. As well as the popcorn.” He tells her as he eats the brownie down and sucks clean his fingers. That naughty gleam back in his eyes. She was a damn good cook. Bitter chocolate rich and deep sat strong and sweet on his tongue. It went well with the red wine.

 

“I can accept those fair terms.” She beams. Licking a stray crumb of chocolate off her thumb. His dark eyes watched her, smirking.

 

She eats her own bit with tiny bites and red cheeks as she stays on her knees opposite. The air was starting to cool and he was hankering to get her small little form huddled up close to him sometime soon, to watch the movie.

 

It seems like he’d get his chance as the credits started with a booming roll. Announcing the start of the film. Kylo stands his wine down and beckons her close with a nod of his head. Sat leant back, big long legs stretched out - his big booted feet almost off the rug. She always forgot how big he was.

 

“Get over here Kitten...” He commands with a smile. She does as told. Standing  her wine down and letting herself get tucked, back into his chest.

 

His shirt rasps against her skin. His cologne finely tickles her nose. She shuffled to get comfy and lets his strong arms hold her close. She feels his nose and red wine scented lips nuzzle at her neck. His hot fingers tease at the short hem of her blue dress.

 

“I make no promises that I’ll keep my hands _off_ you.” He sighs into her ear with a naughty kiss and a smile.

 

The way he bites her neck makes her shiver. 

 

“I’ll take another kiss if you’re offering them out...” she sighs weakly. 

 

He turns her head back and makes out with her as the film begins. It’s _heaven_. Dirty. Hot. Romantic kissing that gets her toes curling. His hands cupping her with urgency.

 

She smiles onto his lips. Too blissed out in his hold to care. She remember there ever being a first date better than this.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Night set slow and cool. The amber of afternoon blazed and fizzled out into the blue cool of night. Crickets chirruped their chorus around the small park. Humming on the air. Nothing could be heard otherwise but the drawling baritone of Jimmy Stewart and the softer lull of Grace Kelly’s voice as Jeff and Lisa discussed over why Thorwold would murder a dog.

In the dark, the many couples and families spread on rugs became nothing but indistinguishable dark shapes, warped and still. Far off in the dark. Kylo switched his eyes from the film, watching his Kitten as she was curled up in his arms. Idly munching on popcorn. A shawl wrapped across her shoulders to keep the chill off her arms. She was happy. Eyes fixated on the film before them. It reflected in slithers off her intrigued blue eyes.

He gladly took some of the popcorn off her offered fingers earlier. Licking butter salt off the tips. Letting his teeth clamp on her fingers in a smile - only for the barest scant second. But she knew enough to see how that wicked flicker of arousal lit up his gunpowder eyes.

He grabbed her hand and brought each fingertip into his mouth. Sucking them clean. Butter, wine and _her_ bursting across his palate. She’s clenching her thighs and trying not to tremble, she’s so turned on. Kylo sets his eyes on hers. And she’s never felt more erotically appealing to a man. It’s overwhelming. Completely delirious.

 _Delicious_.

And when Kylo was aroused - she’d come to learn it wasn’t _long_ until he had her clawing at his big, sweaty pale back, screaming his name in a fucked out diatribe.

She shuffled back into him, turning her attention to the screen once more. Cheeks flushed as she ate more popcorn. He’d spoiled her rotten at half time. Came back with an armful of milk duds, vines, popcorn and mallomars. They shared chocolate and red wine kisses for most of the first half of the film.

They wolfed down the sandwiches, the chips and wine. He greedily stole a fair few of her brownies. She smiled so much at him every time he reached for one, her cute little cheeks dimpled.

When the intermission rolled around, Flo brings by her husband and half the Bernstein clan to meet Kylo. Daisy insisted most furiously in her very stubborn eight year old way, that he looked like a giant out of a fairytale. That made him smile wide.

The film starts back up, and Evie pulls the thin cream pashmina tighter about her shoulders. Tucking her knees up. Having kicked off her shoes long ago. Kylo stretched out on his side and smiled wickedly as he clamped one arm into her hip, and drags her bottom into the cradle of his pelvis. Grinding their bodies together.

He bit his lip when he felt how her soft little ass got his cock starting to fill out in his trousers. He growls lightly and bites down the inside of his bottom lip as he got a _filthy_ idea.

The corner of her shawl lay folded over her thighs. He could exploit that. _Fuck_ was he was going to.

He lets his hand playfully caress her hip. Feeling the shape of her bones pressing up under her skin. So frail. So soft. It never failed to remind him of his own terrifying size. How dainty she was in comparison. Her bones were like a delicate baby birds under his hands. His, under his rough-hewn latticed skin of tattoos and scars was like iron rods encased in concrete.

They both feel as his fingers skim and dip under the hem of her dress. Yet another pretty thing he wanted to tear to shreds to get at the gorgeous body underneath. Her skin prickles with goosebumps at his touch as his big hot fingers claw across her rounded fleshy thighs. Getting closer and closer to their intended target.

When his thumb brazenly sweeps across the cleft of her pussy, outside her safe, plain cotton panties, she freezes.

She squirms up in his lap. Her little hand going to cover his and pry it away. It was _no_ use. He’d hooked a finger into her panties, he was millimetres away from this beautiful pink pussy. He wasn’t budging.

“Kylo. Not here, we can’t here, we’re in _public_...” She gasps out nervously. Glancing around at the people sat close by. On their own rugs. Engrossed in the film.

He runs two fingers down her dripping slit to prove his point. She shudders. Cheeks aflame. He wishes he could see her whole expression right now. The cute brand of her worrying panic. The blush. The gaped lips.

“They’re all watching the film, Kitten. But I’d much rather watch _you_  cum.” He grins. She feels his hot breath on the back of her neck. Spreading down her shoulders.

She shuts her eyes and gasps out “oh god.” In a whimper that sounds plainly pathetic. His mouth is then closer, right at her ear, hushing her with cooing shushes.

“God can’t help you. So you better keep it quiet as I finger your tight little pussy.” He bites her ear and his fingers climb over the barrier of her panties fully, two fingers parting her slick lips and gently teasing her open. Coaxing out the wetness that’s already drooling onto his hand.

Her toes clenched. She bit down her lip hard, feeling his big chest move against her back. His teeth press against her neck as he smiles and moans into her hairline at her nape.

“Always so _wet_ for me. Aren’t you baby? Dripping for me every time.” He mumbles smugly into her ear. Kissing it after.

She wants to gasp out loud, and move her hips. But she can’t. She has to keep quiet. And worst of all, she has to keep still. She wants to burst. Her hand is digging into his over where it’s wedged between her thighs. Her nails sting his knuckles.

Her legs shift and her pelvis grinds back into him. She’s trying to hard to keep still that she’s trembling.

“I can feel how worked up you are. You’re trying so hard to keep quiet, huh?” He teases, still drawing circles around her. Teasing down outside her labia with two fingers. Ignoring right where she needed him. And he knew it. Taking great smug delight in getting her worked up and flustered.

She was such a pretty picture all blush pink. Sweaty and pink and sobbing in pleasure. Her blue eyes bright, yet so dark and full with her lust. Hair tacky against her neck and forehead. Skin shimmering. Such a delectable sight to see, his fucked out Kitten. Perched on the edge of cumming as she bounced on his cock in his lap, or he pounded her _raw_ until he feared he’d break her old creaky bed.

How many times had he had her like that under the sheets now? It must be countless times. The sight of kitten wrapped up in blue moonlight of her bedroom, tacky in sheets. Body shimmering silver in the night. It’s one that’s engrained on his brain as much as his own name.

And though it sates him, he knows it won’t be enough. It’ll _never_ be enough. He doesn’t have her and he gets antsy and pissed off. He can’t and won’t stop needing her. So many times after they’ve fucked. Or he thinks he’s tired her out with a sheet clawing, bed wetting, screaming loud orgasm. Not twenty minutes later, and he is hard again, aching, cock leaking hungry for another round. He hadn’t had stamina for sex like this since high school.

Evie is either in heaven or hell. She can’t discern which. She’s writhing on the ends of his fingers, squirming on the rug. Desperate to open her mouth and beg him to make her feel good. And she’s surrounded by the familiar occupants of her town sat not metres away.

Kylo decides to stop teasing - he can never resist her gorgeous hot pussy. He feels her slick coated thighs as he plunges two fingers sharply into her to test if she’d keep quiet.

She does. _Just_.

She opens her mouth to groan - remembering she can’t, he saves her by slinking one hand up her neck, feeling her corded throat strain as he twists her jaw about to him and muffled her moans into a savage kiss. His lips claim hers and he doesn’t retreat. His tongue rubs along her teeth and he smirks as she gasps and splutters into his mouth. One hand leaving his hand to thread through the back of his soft hair as he fucks her hard and fast with his fingers.

They break away and she’s trying hard to watch the movie. Biting her lip so hard she might taste blood soon. Her watery eyes fixing on the movie screen. Trying to act like she doesn’t have half his big hand stuffed in her. Pleasuring her beyond the grip of her sanity.

“I wanna slip your damn panties off Kitten. Next time leave them _the fuck_ at home. They only get in my way.” He snarls hot into her ear. Curling and opening his fingers inside her. Feeling her slick silk walls suck him in deeper. _Oh how_ that always makes him rock hard.

He finds her spot. That nice soft sweet one inside that sets her thighs quivering, walls fluttering around his fingers as if trying to grip them. She almost loses it as he relentlessly batters that spot with flicking fingertips. Fluttering into her body like an open flame licking the air.

It’s a damn good thing he was so solid, strong and hard against her back. She felt as effectual as a silk scarf on the breeze. She was melting and moving herself onto his hand without knowing it. Blissed out with the pleasure he’s finger fucking into her, yet she’s never been so on edge. So tortured.

“I’d give anything right now to bend you over the end of your bed and spank your ass hot til this pussy is _pooling_ on the sheets. Begging to be filled.” He rumbles. She feels his whispering voice move in his chest. Rubbing up against his big ribs.

“That’s what I’d do kitten. I wouldn’t let you cum. I’d edge you like this for hours.... and I mean, _hours_. I’d go all night.” He purrs. She believes him. Not done yet he carries on. His voice was so low and silky it was dark rich. Like smoke on whisky.

“I’d get you whining and sobbing. This sweet cunt wet and raw for me. So when I did finally slide my dick in you, you cum purely from _that_ alone.”

“You know if there was no one here baby. I’d get those needy pussy lips on my face. Ride me til you gush.” His throbbing erection clearly agrees with that thought as he bucks his hips into her ass.

 

“Oh _shit yeah_. I’d taste that pussy and eat your damn _fucking_ heart out.” He promises.

She’s burning up. She was cold and she’s burning up. Boiling over in her own skin. Blood fuzzing with lust and need. Writhing desperate yet she’s never been so still. Kylo was a ferocious lover. She wants to scream, she wants to dig her nails in his skin and she wants to move her hips in time with his fingers. She wants to do all the usual things that please him. He loves her loud.

He’d never come close to loving anything on a partner before her. That thought doesn’t sober him. He doesn’t give it a chance too. He stays drunk on lust. Drunk on the feeling of her gorgeous pussy surrounding his hand.

“One thing I’m desperate still to do, Kitten. Among the _many_ things I wanna corrupt you with. Cum deep in you like I know you love. And watch it leak out. And when it does, I’m gonna fuck it back into its rightful place with my fingers. Just, like, _this_...”

He drags and twists and swirls his fingers in a way that almost lets them both hear how her slick pushed sloppily around inside her. Squishing and sloshing. Her small body is so tense and strung out, Kylo knows with certainty she’s close. He can almost _taste_ her.

“ _Fuck_. I’d give anything to taste you right now. I could drown myself licking that pussy. But me shoving my head under your dress and lapping your clit might be a bit too obvious. Even for me. The sight of you cumming is _mine alone_. And I intend to keep it that way.” He explains.

“I won’t tell you of all the naughty things I’d do to make sure I _keep_ it that way...” he intones darkly. She doesn’t need telling that. Their encounter with Jimmy was proof enough of what he’d do to cherish and guard his kitten. She feels his wet teeth scrap into her neck as he talks. Smiling in glee.

She almost breaks character to sigh his name. “Oh _Kylo_. You’re gonna make me-“ She trails off. Thighs quaking. Hand bunched in his trousers. Wrinkling the expensive things to kingdom come. He doesn’t care one bit.

He drags her close and grinds his cock onto her. Prodding her in the back with it.

“Say it. _Fucking say_ it...” His hand itches to grip her neck. But he curls his fingers into a stiff fist in her dress instead. He wants to rip something.

“Kitten.” He growls into her neck. Lips on skin. Drooling a little onto her where he moves his lips to speak. A wet smear left on her pale neck that he sucks away and turns it into a love bite at her pulse point.

“You’re gonna make me.” She swallows “c-cum...” she chokes. A whisper lost on the hot air. She throws her head back to his shoulder, and he eyes how her skin shimmers. Sweat sliding down her neck, pooling at her collarbone.

His exercise in restraint, and foray into exhibitionism ends when he fucks and fucks, fucks her so deep, and feels her wetness pour over his fingers. Turning around to muffle her screams into his neck. Hips jumping up to pump out every last bit of pleasure as it hit, over and over. Rolling across her like cresting waves. It hit her again and again and battered her senseless.

Left her legs quivering. Pulse and pussy fluttering in sync. Heart jerking in her chest like a mad thing.

He pulls his sticky wet fingers slowly out of her, carefully nudging her clit as he went. Smearing it with her fluids, marking it nearly, in a ‘ _I’ll be back for you later.’_ Sort of a way.

She jolts in his arms as his wet fingertips press her clit. Her breath fogs his neck as he does that. And _how_ he smirks. Like the devil.

He pulls away and lets her panties slip back in place over her leaking wet cunt. Messy. Sloppy. Splattered in cum and wetness. He loves knowing how she’ll fidget with being so wet for the rest of their night.

He drags his hand back up her thigh. Watching the silver smear it left in a broad stripe up her leg. He reaches over her and she’s puzzled at to what, until he plucks half a brownie into his hands, and places it into his mouth. Fingers on his tongue too. She watches.

Watches as he sucks _those_ fingers.

He savours long and deep, and draws out slowly. Dragging them out his lips. And smiling as he swallows down. Eyes of pooling burnt molasses stick to her hungrily. She feels her cheeks heat.

“My favourite dessert.” He tells her seriously. Eyes on dark fire for her. She swallows and sags against his chest. He chuckles and kisses the nobbled join of her spine to her neck.

Turning her breathless attention back to the film, she sees it’s not long from its climax. _Ironic_. She’s barely breathing from hers. Tacky in her dress, thighs a sticky hot mess. Clit pulsing for more. She feels it echo out with her heartbeat.

She feels embarrassed she just had a raucously phenomenal orgasm, sat three blankets away from families sat with their children. She presses a palm to her heated cheeks. Sighing in relief and bliss.

“I hope I wasn’t loud...” She ushers weakly. She had her worrying face back on already.

Kylo slings an arm around her neck and she feels his big muscles bunch. Made her go all swoony and girly. Such a show of macho power like his.

“Baby, you were quiet as a mouse. But when I get you home. I’d quite like you screaming the house down. You know I love you _loud_.” He purrs. Kissing her neck. Nuzzling with his strong nose. Feeling her pulse go crazy under it.

Her heart briefly goes ballistic at the three little words he uses in that sentence. But her treacherous body clamours and whines for the all-nighter marathon of hot rough sex he’s suggesting.

“And on our first date too, Mr. Kylo Ren. You shock me...” She jokes innocently. But her smile is cutely optimistic.

He grumbles. It’s a sound almost like a pleased chuckle.

“I promise me and my cock are _more_ than worth putting out on a first date for.” He explains. Where her shawl had curled off her shoulders. It now lay limp over his lap. He guides her hand under it and gets her cupping his hard dick. She flutters again at that.

She loves his reaction when she dares to be brave, and curls her fingers over him, dragging along his length. His hips seek more of her hand. But she pulls away. With his girth and length, a raging hard on in his tight suit trousers would be only too obvious when they stood up to go home.

She pours them the last of the wine as a distraction, and they take turns sharing it out the same glass in an oddly intimate way. They watch the film conclude happily. Or as her Granny used to say, ‘ _everything gets set right.’_ _  
_

They settle down again, snuggled together as the film draws nearer the ending. He was on his side, head leant on an elbow and the other cupping and stroking the dip in her waist as she crosses her legs and leans into him. As the sex haze fades, Kylo pipes up.

“Kitten, there’s something I need to tell you...” He kisses quietly against her shoulder. She takes notice. Turning her knees inwards, she twists her hips, ignored the movie star kiss happening, and looks earnestly across at him. His tone sounds serious.

“What’s wrong?” Shes quick to rasp out.

He smiles. One hand draws hair back behind her ear. Tucking it there for her.

“Nothings wrong. But I have to go out of town for a few days next week. I’ll be gone for ten days.” He says.

“ _Oh?”_ She asks. Her heart sinks at the thought of him not being around. “Jet-setting off somewhere nice?” She asks curiously.

“Switzerland.” He answers with a small smirk. “I’m going to meet the investors who sunk their money into my company. They’re sending a jet over.” He tells.

Her brows raise, impressed. She almost forgot he was an aspiring business mogul now. A big bad CEO. _Her_ big bad CEO.

“That must be exciting.” She muses.

He nods vaguely. “My designs always went over well in more Nordic countries. They’re pleased to welcome me and my company. Which is good.” He elucidates.

“The worlds in your palm. Mr. Ren. And _well_ you deserve it.” She tells him. This was where he belonged. Doing something successful for millions of dollars. Not festering in a cell in some grotty prison.

“I wanted to tell you. So you know that when I get back...” He trails off. “I can barely go six hours in the day without your pussy, after ten, _long_ , sexless days....” He leans in and bites her neck with sharp teeth to make her squeak. Which she does.

A few heads turn their way. Frowning. As it was just getting to the good bit.

“I’m gonna fucking  _wreck_ you.” He growls. “And if you’re not in bed naked and waiting for me the minute I’m back, then I cannot be held responsible for my _damages_...” He husks into her ear.

She shivers. And turns to kiss him on the lips. “Yes, Kylo.” She agrees. He could say anything in that growling voice. He could tell her to jump off the Empire State and she’d bloody go and do it. Anything for that _sexy_ rasp.

He growls and smacks their lips together in a kiss that would make a nun faint. Hot lips, teeth and running his tongue on her lower lip. Sucking the breath and rationality out of her. She’s cupped his jaw to kiss him. Wrapping around each other. His arm goes around her back. Holding her tight. Kissing her lips rosy sore.

They pull away when they both feel soft things pelting them. It scatters and hits him in the back, and her, down the side of her bare arm. That felt _like- popcorn?_

They pull away and twist around to see they’re being showered with handfuls of it. From a mischievous old lady. Sat, wine drunk, in her fold out chair, pelting the young lovers as she lobbed handfuls of her popcorn at them.

“Pack it in, you two. There’s _kids_ around.” Flo hisses across. A grin on her lips. 

Evie buries her face in Kylo’s shoulder in shame. His chest bumps her where he laughs. She clutches onto his shoulders and kisses under his handsome jaw. Gorgeous cologne in her nose. 

“ _No_ more town dates. Next time. I promise...” She laughs.

He cups the back of her head and kisses her temple. He can feel laughter curling at his black heart at these whacky, big hearted folk who loved her earnestly - and he _didn’t_ mind.

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d that chapter go for you?


	24. Chances & Tenacity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben may just be my favouritest prettiest filthy slut in all the world. 
> 
> Whilst the cats away, hey?....

 

 

 

 

 

Evie seemed to notice with every _spec_ of her body that Kylo was gone.

 

She found her mind slipping to him when in odd moments. Such as when she was gardening of a quiet evening. She kept expecting to feel his big warm hands slide over her hips, grabbing her ass. Stood at the stove cooking dinner, she kept anticipating to hear the roar of his Aston carving its sleek way up through the woods and into her drive. Sadly; none of it comes.

 

 

She kept relaying their goodbye in her head. His flight was early. He’d woken her up in a way that proved most popular. Spread her thighs wide and tongued her awake groaning. She grabbed his wavy mane and sighed in bliss as he made her cum a handful of times. Not giving in til it became too much for her poor abused clit to handle. She knew what he was doing; quite literally drinking her in before he had to leave. He stuck out his tongue and lapped her up as she gushed - as if he’d never get to taste her again.  

 

In odes to his stamina. He then scooped her up pinned her to the shower wall, taking her hard from behind, big hand leaving bruises ringing her neck as they fucked. They finished and washed up before his car turned up to take him to the airport. They dried off and she plated him up a huge breakfast of mushroom omelette with fried tomatoes, and her cinnamon coffee and salty buttered toast before she sent him off.

 

He was such a picture of virility stood in her hallway in his three piece suit, tie and overcoat. Shrugging it on as she righted his tie knot for him. Stroking it down his big chest. His eyes glimmered brighter than his silver cuff links in his sleeves. He cupped her jaw in one hand and gave her a filthy, _too short,_ goodbye kiss. Picking up his carry on bag and suit bag and striding out the door. She watched him go. Treated herself to an extra few hours in bed for her all too early, amorous wake up call.

 

She spends all day up to her elbows in dirt in the allotment to make herself not yearn for him too much. She goes to the small movie theatre that night, in town with Flo to see ‘Dirty Dancing’ for the ten thousandth time. Cool down in the icy relief of the AC, ignoring the sticky heat of night outside. Shovelling in popcorn and sharing a bag of jolly ranchers with her friend. Flo stole all the red ones.

 

What does come though, is a six foot four counterpart, sans tattoos, with a flirty sense of humour. And a _very_ healthy appetite for sex.

 

She had an enormous, gaping Kylo shaped hole in her life. And his Twin was starting to try and fill that particular void.

 

It had been two torturous days since Kylo had left. She’s running out of ways to keep from thinking about _how_ much she misses him.

 

She was at work when she got the first text. Hunched over the microfiche archives. Pouring through them for her article on the proud history and heritage of the Nichols family pumpkin business, they were rushing to finish and get to the printers for the usual weekend edition. And she feels her phone buzz from its cushioned place on a stack of papers over at her desk.

 

She springs out her chair, and launched across the office to scoop up her phone. Modest flowery dress swaying about her knees. She bites her lip in excitement and brings the phone up to see. And her broad smile falls a little.

 

‘ _Kylo’s out of town then, gorgeous?’_

She sighs lightly. Trust Ben in all his ladykiller glory to slink back in, ramming his foot in the door, just when Kylo’s back was turned.

 

She opts for conventional. ‘ _Hello Ben.’_

The reply comes quicker than she can comprehend. In the blink of an eye it’s there on her screen;

 

_‘Come have a drink with me tonight?’_

She had to get back to work. She has a million things to do. And going out with the most indiscreet flirt in all the 50 states seemed like a fools errand. Not to mention what happened to her the last time Kylo laid down a claim of her.

 

‘ _This isn’t a good idea. I’m sure you’ve got some other girls in your contacts dying to get taken out tonight. May I suggest you ring them instead. I’m Sorry.’_

She thinks that the end of it - _Oh_ , she should have known better by now. Ben Solo wasn’t so easily defeated.

 

‘ _One drink. And I’ll try and keep my hands to myself.’_

 

Comes his promise. Evie rolls her eyes. Back at the microfiche now. Staring conspicuously with suspicion at her phone.

 

‘ _We both know that’s an empty promise.’_ She replies.

 

‘ _One drink can’t hurt.’_ He fought back _._

Tell that pithy excuse to Kylo, she frets. _  
_

She’s stuck on an appropriate response when his determined second message comes through

 

‘ _The Carlton. East and 9th. 9:30. I’ll have a cold dirty martini with a twist waiting for you. Dress sexy.’_ He urges. _  
_

 

She rolls her eyes. He was the definition of perseverance. She ignores her phone and turns back to work. All cylinders firing to get the paper out. She works solidly, pitting it out right out her mind. Vanishing it to a marooned place in her head she never visits. After they submit this weeks edition to the printers. She feels not an emotion of relief. But one of deflation.

 

Now work is over. She can’t so easily put aside Ben’s texts. And she’s amazed she finds how much she wants to go. But _not_ for the reasons he’d like.

 

She bustles home and makes ready. Showering, shaving her legs. Washing her hair in some expensive lavender shampoo she splurged on. Akin to slipping into her war paint. Putting on one of her innumerable tea dresses. This one was black and quite fitted. With a sweetheart neckline and capped sleeves. Vintage 40’s style. It was spattered with red roses, and white polka dots. She teams it with low red heels. A slash of tulip red on her lips, sweeping mascara on her lashes and she pins her hair up off her face. She gets in her car ready to leave and decides with fierce determination as she grips the steering wheel, that she was going to tell Ben she was with Kylo.

 

Labels be damned. So they weren’t definable yet. She was loyal to one man regardless. Her fidelity was more a part of her than the colour of her eyes; or her genes. She’s damn certain that trait is winded around every strand of her DNA.

 

She gets into town early. And parks her car with plenty of time to spare. She got foots it to the ritzy hotel bar. Walks across the shimmering modern lobby. Flawless wall to wall marble. Noisy and echoing with sharp footsteps across it. Black and white hinted with accents of blue splashed in. She clacks across to the restaurant and bar podium giving Ben’s name and the waiters face instantly lights up in recognition.

 

She was told he’s in the King Cole bar. And that’s where she goes to. Ignoring the lush luxury of her surroundings. It’s all immaculate. Expensive. Modern and chic. A very suitable setting for Ben. But she doesn’t pay attention to that. She’s got something else on her mind, tonight.

 

She heads through the fairly busy bar. It’s taste is masculine blue and moody. Bassy late night lounge music pumps through the dark atmosphere. Sparsely lit leather booths line one wall. The bar runs adjacent. A huge walnut counter studded one side with grey velvet barstools. Trimmed with stoic deco lights around the room. Crowds of men and women fill the space. Deafening chatter and music clogs her ears. But she spots Ben from a mile off. Lounging in a booth to himself. Arms along the back. One leg posed on the other. Two drinks in front of him - as promised.

 

She strides toward him with a backbone full of bravery and steely determination. His face breaks into a filthy grin when he spots her coming close. His brown eyes heat up under the brim of his hair like brown soil after hot summers rain.

 

His goatee and tache still trimmed short around his lips. Stretched out with his smile. Cinder brown of his black wavy hair catching in the low hanging light, over the table. He’s wearing a deep navy suit, as if to blend in to the place, with a dusky barely blue shirt.

 

He stands when she comes to the table. She tries not to shrink under his gaze that she can feel is making clammy pins and needles prick at her skin. She meets his eyes head on.

 

“Ben...” She starts. Opening her mouth to say more.

 

“Baby...” He answers. Hooking her close by the back of the waist and telling her in til their bodies almost touched. His juniper sweet cologne crests over her. Stroking her senses the way his plump lips pressed a kiss to her cheek.

 

He smells that warm clean scent of her skin. Tang of soap. Geranium perfume. The plain spiced scent of lavender ebbed in too. That was new. He liked it.

 

Most of the girls he’s used too reek of rotten sickly Versace or Gucci perfume that follows them like an overpowering cloud. The raw scent punching him in the gut often making him feel sick. Kitten was different, and the calm modest scent of her turns him the fuck on in ways he _can’t_ describe how.

 

She can’t deny how every nerve is awash with delight at his caress. But she remains strong. His _wasn’t_ the pair of arms she wanted to be held in again. He was bloody close. But _he_ wasn’t the man she’s craving the way a drought needs the rain.

 

Despite how mushy his smelling alluringly good, and looking _twice_ as such affects her. She leverages a hand between them, creating some much needed space between their chests. He eyes her hand with smug flirtation. 

 

He takes her lithe little hand and carefully tugs her into the booth with him. She sees the cold martini fogging up the glass. With a twist. Straight up. like she likes.

 

Next to her drink was a squat thick tumbler with two fingers of apricot-gold whiskey filling the bottom. He settles in first, the half light masking them in low half darkness. It was awfully dark in their booth. Moodily so. The suave bar glitters opposite, a very epitome of high class nightlife.

 

She slides onto the seat next to him. His hand doesn’t leave her knee. Rather it kneads it in gentle concern. The filthy smile never leaving his face. He was damn hard already. Merely from seeing her walk to him across the room. She seems withdrawn. And it wouldn’t take a fool to know why. She sits with her hands sloped in her lap. Trying her best not to get swept along by hurricane Ben.

 

He studies her for a second. “Baby. We’re not hurting anyone by having an innocent drink together...” He tells. Reaching across for his glass and taking a big drag of his 25 year aged vintage Glenlivet.

 

She looks up and finds his eye-line to concentrate on. “You? _Innocent?”_ She teases sweetly.

 

He exhales a smile. Then his eyes turn. As if someone flipped down the dimmer switch. Molten lust swells through him.

 

“ _Fuck_. I’ve missed you, gorgeous.” He purrs. Watching her leave a garnet-sticky smudge of lipstick on the rim of her glass as she sips. His hand still on her knee, playfully swipes a thumb across her kneecap. It’s enough to send static sparks racing through her veins.

 

“Do you actually miss me though Ben? Or do you just miss what you _did_ to me?” She asks point blanc.

 

Her elegant, unpainted fingers toy with the stem of her glass as she tries to keep up the shield of her bravery. He wants those nails raking down his back again and bringing back blood. _Red_. Red like the colour of her pretty lips.

 

“I miss _all_ of it...” He husks seriously. His arm slides on the leather soft booth behind her head, brushing her neck, his thigh presses into hers as he leans closer and cages her in where she sat. She doesn’t retreat. That would be weakness. She turns her head and looks him dead in the eye.

 

“I miss the way you gasped my name when I slid my thick hard dick in your perfect wet pussy...” He whispers. Leaning right in to say it like the dirty secret it was.

 

“I close my eyes at night and swear to god I can still feel the taste you on my tongue.” He purrs. Fingers stroking down her neck from the arm behind her. Other hand slipping a little higher up her soft thigh.

 

“I thought you said you had a boyfriend safely tucked away at home.” She fights back. The only way he knew his words were working was in the pink tint sat on her cheeks that definitely _wasn’t_ blusher from her makeup bag.

 

He sees it starting to ebb down her collarbone too. Staining her milky skin. So _pale_. Like the cold splash of cream he dashed into his coffee in the mornings. She blushed beautifully. Bruised beautifully too. Like an ivory satin canvas ready to be marked with lips, teeth, tongue. And _other_ things too. He’d give his left arm to watch how he’d spread a pearl necklace to drip all over that swan-like neck.

 

“I did baby. But now he’s gone. And I can’t stop thinking about the way you rode my tongue like a _champ_. Squirming away on my face and cumming all over it.” He flirts. So close now his breath hits her ear, ruffles hot her hair. Scorched her neck to burn her. His filthy words making her mouth dry.

 

“Lucky me. I had the taste of your pussy on my tache for _days_...” By now he’s panting. Nibbling on her ear with his teeth.

 

“I’ve fucked a lot of women over the years babe, and not _one_ of them had a cunt that could live up to your tight little thing.” He tells.

 

“I’d have thought you’d have moved onto another one of _those_ women by now.” She said. It had been a few weeks since the infamous night in question. And Ben didn’t strike her as the type of man who sat home brooding over a girl he couldn’t have.

 

“Three women at the bar have been giving me come fuck me eyes since I got here. They don’t interest me one bit. They’re all cheap, easy sluts. The only pussy I’m interested in fucking tonight is sat right here, with _me_.” He smiles.

 

“The only girl I wanna worship over and over with my mouth, and make her cum, and scream, and fuck the very life out of, is here, perched in my lap. And I’d like to give her an all night marathon of _such_ good sex that even the neighbours will be needing a cigarette after we’re done...” Now he’s scraping a dark love-bite on her throat. She pulls away, breathless. His teeth slide off her with a wet pop.

 

“Ben. We can’t do this. _I-_ _can’t_ _..._ “ She starts. Sighing as his hand hitched higher up her dress. The darkness of the booth and the table saved anyone from seeing. She’s had enough orgasms in public of late. Her hand clamps his down on her thigh. Stopping his route.

 

He pulls back from where he’s fogging up her neck with heat and dirty promises. Eyes shuttering to look at her. His cheeks starting to pink now too, from where he made out with her weak neck.

 

“I _can’t_.” She resolutes. Shaded blue eyes finding his. He tilts her chin up with one hand and grants her a steamy kiss under her jaw that makes her breath rattle weak through her chest.

 

“I won’t breathe a word to Kylo, babe. While the cats away...” He smiles into her skin. Licking up where she sprayed her perfume earlier.

 

“Ben...” She sighs out in a half-assed chide.

 

He smirks against her pulse point. Sucking on it. Feeling it’s throb. Knowing he’s turning her on. He takes her hand from her lap and brings it into his. Humping up into the press of her palm so she can feel his massive pulsing cock. Erect and ready.

 

“Five star hotel babe. I got a room here. I could get one for us. Or a suite. Or the penthouse. _Fuck_. I could buy this whole damn place right the fuck now and let you _pick_ the room if you wanted.” He bargains.

 

“Spread this gorgeous body out on five star bedsheets and tongue your pretty cunt til you cum all over them, and _me_. I’d raw you in so many ways, all night long baby. I wouldn’t stop loving on you til _I’m_ satisfied. And I can go for miles.” He promises.

 

“Room service the next morning. Anything you want. Click your fingers. And you’ll have it. Hole up with me for the next week in here, before he’s back and I promise you won’t know how to moan any other name than _mine_.” He offers.

 

“The things I could _do_ to you with seven days all to ourselves, Kitten.” He growls, smirking.

 

Rubbing her hand over his crotch. A needy whine of a growl bred with a moan parting his lips as he leans in to suck at her neck again. If this booth were darker he’d slam her on the table and fuck her right here. Tear her dress up and spear his cock into her so deep, it distends her guts.

 

“Say yes. Oh, Evie baby. Say yes, and then I can bury my mouth and tongue in your sweet, _sweet_ pussy and be in-between your legs for the next three hours.” He rasps. Fingers trying to slide further into her panties.

 

She puts a stop to all of it when she tears herself out the booth. Coming to a stand. Leaving Ben cold, and aching. Her own body felt rather devoid and shaky. But she stands on her own two feet. And is proud of the words that come out her mouth with more steel and bravery than she’s sure she possesses in her weak little soul.

 

“Ben. I can’t. And I know my reasons for why is a feeble excuse to you. But it’s not for me. I know Kylo and I are nothing. I’m not stupid. But it _is_ something to me. Something worth being loyal to. And... as tempting as your offer is. I just- _can’t_. I’m sorry. Goodnight.” She says.

 

“Thankyou for the drink.” She parts with as she slips away with her clutch bag, off into the crowd before she can register the disappointment on his handsome face.

 

Little does she know; he doesn’t look disappointed. He merely smirks. He sits back in the booth. Cock throbbing pulses of pain in his underwear at being ignored.

 

Pulses of pain that he wasn’t at this very second, sinking any part of himself into Evie’s hot pussy.

 

He finished his drink and took his room key card out his pocket. He twiddles it playfully in his fingers before he stands up. Shifting lightly at the friction his trousers dragged across his heavy erection.

 

A stick thin brunette, with ridiculous bouffant hair and a slinky dress, sways up to him in her heels and rakes her nails across his chest. “Was it you staring at me? Or me who couldn’t take my eyes off you...” She flirts through her bee-stung pouting lips.

 

Ben leers, clutching at her hand on his chest-

 

Before he impolitely plucks up her hand and takes it off him. And says through a sickly sweet smile;

 

“Couldn’t be _less_ interested, sweetie...” He injures.

 

Watching her face drop in shock, he skirts around her and stalks off to the lift lobby to go up, alone, to his penthouse suite.

 

Shame really. He could imagine railing Evie to death. Fucking her up against the big panoramic window for the whole night lit city to see.

 

He could see it in his minds eye; Him stark bollock naked, her in those red heels to keep the height equal. Ploughing her from behind, hands on her lithe little hips and hearing the wet smacks of their fucking fill up the air. Just as the scent of her cunt surely would.

 

It doesn’t matter to him. He smirks. For there’s always _tomorrow_...

 

She isn’t lost to him _just yet._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie successfully puts it out her mind - getting home after her jarring drink with Ben. She opens a bottle of wine and sits down on her couch to a soppy rom com. And she finishes the bottle of wine to herself. Taking a tipsy shower before bed. Quieting the swell of things Ben had made her feel earlier.

 

Safe to say she fidgets a bit before she gets to sleep - tomorrow was her day off too. She intends to spend it in whatever busy manner she sees fit.

 

When she wakes up the next morning to find it is brilliantly bright and cool. She sits up in bed rubbing her bleary eyes with a smile. She knows what she can do to pass her time.

 

She begins Day 3 without Kylo - and she’s on her knees in the wet, sticky dirt, weeding her garden. In mucky blue jeans and a ratty old white t-shirt. Big gloves on her hands as she wrangles weeds out of her wildflower border. It’s nature was overgrown and wild, but she liked to maintain it as best she could.

 

She’s just digging out a particularly determined clump of weeds, when she hears a car rattle over the drive behind her. She twists her head around and sees a delivery truck stopped. And a driver getting out and unloading an armful of boxes in big posh bags. She frowns and stands up, tugging off her gloves and signing the slip of paper with confusion.

 

She struggled with the armful of things up into the house. Dropping them all out on her kitchen island. They all look expensive. She can take a swinging _guess_ as to who they’re from.

 

Golden-taupe boxes tied with satin white ribbon. And there are lots of them. At least seven or eight of them. She undoes one ribbon with trepidation, and sees the brand name emblazoned in white on the box. _Coco de Mer._

 

She opens one box and delicately peeks under the lid, her brow furrowing and her mouth gapes as she saw what was inside...

 

It looked like a gold necklace at first. A long, simple fine chain. Light, cold and frail in her hands. Slipping through her fingers like it was molten gold itself. She brings it out, and sees it had two small clips leading off the main chain. She frowns. Underneath it there’s a stiff little card of cloth like paper. Gold embossed with the company name and a note, penned in a thick drip of an expensive ink pen.

 

_‘I can vividly remember what fun I had tugging your nipples to make you cum that night - these clamps have the same effect gorgeous.’_

Nipple clamps. She drops them as if they’d burned her palm. Now mildly irritated and a little scared, she starts on a crusade through the rest of the boxes. Opening lids and seeing the little hand written notes that accompanied each object.

 

Small, deco style brown bottles of radiant bloom anal lubricant along with divine aqua lubricant. Whatever the hell that was. Each had a cavorting 20’s era lady in a billowing dress on them. Like a pre-raphaelites painting. That didn’t make their contents any the more palatable to her.

 

‘ _Not that you need much lube baby. As I recall your cunt got plenty wet enough on its own. I love tasting how it dripped for me. I can still_ _taste_ _you if I concentrate_ _h_ _ard enough.’_

 

The next one unearthed a small little acorn shaped butt plug sat snug in it’s box. A Swarovski Crystal on the handle end of the shimmering gold plated plug.

 

She reads the note that says; ‘ _That pretty_ _little_ _ass of yours would look so damn cute stuffed with this.’_ _  
_

Next box, a brown leather paddle. With gold studs. The note for that was ‘ _I’d so enjoy making that ass red with this while the plug is in you.’_ _  
_

Next one turns up a black patent leather choker. A collar. A collar. Like a dog’s. Like the one’s they put on _pets_. With a big gold loop at the front and the back. ‘ _I’d hold onto your pretty neck with one hand as I did all of that dirty good stuff to you.’_

There was leather and gold cuffs. A leather blindfold mask. Ankle restraints to match the wrist cuffs. By now she’s digging into box after box. She stopped being shocked after the lube and butt plugs. Now she’s just rifling through box after box. Scattering tissue paper and his obscene notes in her wake. It drifts to the floor, kicked away by her feet as she uncovers one erotic toy or bondage item after another.

The pièce de résistance is the gold plated vibrator. The note simple states ‘ _18k baby._ _Can’t_ _have that pussy satisfied by anything less.’_

Now she had two vibrators that she’d never use. She thumps it back down angrily in the box. And strides away to her phone that she’d left on her desk earlier, she picks it up. Uncaring she was probably trailing dirt from her grubby jeans all over the house. She picks up and dials Ben’s number.

 

He picks up on the second ring.

 

“Kitten.” She can hear his smug smirk. Can picture it too. There’s a creaking of leather she can hear the other end. And she can just see him in her minds eye. Reclining back in his Granite grey Brioni suit in his office chair. Spinning his chair around. Relaxing in it to take her call as if he’d been waiting on it - _he had._

He knew it wouldn’t be long until he had her panicked, cutely cross call to tell him off about his little bouquet of erotic purchases.

 

“Ben...I- _ugh_ , I swear to god..” Her brain is so flustered and angry she doesn’t know how or where to even start.

 

He smirks. He’d be longing to see her reaction all morning. Hovering his eyes across his phone as he tried to concentrate on client accounts and conference calls. And now it was here. _She was_. And he could feel the already powerful affect that just her voice had on his body.

 

He was obscenely hard already. He bites down his plush lower lip as he palms his growing cock. Adjusting in his seat. He was still semi flaccid and flexible. But in a few more moments. He’d be harder than rock. Liable to burst through his clinging suit trousers. He wets his lips and listens to her huff the other end of the line.

 

“Struggling with something?” He teases. Drawing his Parker pen in circles on his notepad. Eyes growing hungry and bright.

 

“Trying to think what I’m going to shout at you about first.” She decides with a frown. Though she couldn’t be too harsh. She can only imagine what half these things cost. Gold plated sex toys must’ve set him back a fair few pennies.

 

Ben grins wider. “I knew should’ve bought you the gag too.” He chides in a teasing manner.

 

Her jaw ticks. Gritting together. “Ben. I was very clear in my decision last night.” She tells him.

 

“I know you were baby. I just _hate_ to think of that pretty body of yours not cumming all week until Kylo gets back. It’s a purely mercenary offer of me to take over the pleasuring of it until he gets home.” He smiles. She closes her eyes in exasperation.

 

“Can’t have our kitten going to bed _un_ -fucked.” Ben growls low. Sitting back and crossing his legs. One ankle resting on his other bent knee. He tapped his toes. Watching the light glimmer off his spotless Prada oxfords.

 

“Ben. This _can’t_ happen. I told you so last night.” She stands firm.

 

“Kylo contacted you at all yet?” He seeks curiously.

 

_Silence_. Only thing she feels is her heart struck clean through with a barb of pain. She swallows.

 

“No he hasn’t.” She tells honestly. Apart from a meagre text to tell her he landed safe. There’s been nothing on that front.

 

“I’m sure he will soon.” She gets out. Standing up for him.

 

He’d gone over there to work. Not to ski or take in the sights. He was probably crammed into meeting after meeting and business lunches to keep him busy enough. He had his new business empire at stake. She was pleased not to hear from him if that meant his trip was going well.

 

“And in the meantime. Here _I_ am. At your convenience. My face and my dick ready for you to sit on at a moments notice, babe.” He urges.

 

Trust this honey tongued devil to turn her pain into a bargaining chip for sex.

 

She sighs “Do I look like the gold plated vibrator type of girl to you Ben?” She decides to risk asking.

 

He chuckles darkly. Loudly. “I knew you’d bring that up sooner or later.”

 

“To answer that question; you look, to me, like a girl who doesn’t know what she’s missing. Trust me. Get on your back. Spread your legs, put that vibe on your clit and you’ll be _screaming_ in pleasure before you know it.” He promises.

 

“I’d give _anything_ on this earth to see you slip it between your thighs.” He purrs. His voice husky. Like it was when he was turned on. He breaks away to moan under his breath as he strokes his now impressively hard cock. His suit straining hard against his big swelling hard-on.

 

He could picture her doing that right now. Leant back on her bed. Pale, sweaty and squirming. Knees gaped open wide, holding that shimmering vibe to her pussy and gushing over the gold plating. Thighs trembling in aftershock.

 

That makes his cock steadily leak sticky slick into his underwear. No doubt slipping down his rosy erection.

 

Evie remains resolute. She didn’t look like a string creature; granted. But she had more than enough steel in her backbone to let her stand up for herself when needed.

 

“I’m sorry you wasted all that money Ben. Because it doesn’t change my mind. I’ll tell you what type of girl I am. I’m not the kind who can be bought off.” She tells.

 

Very promptly hanging up afterwards to hammer her point home. She dares a glance through her hallway, into the kitchen. Where the array of nefarious items gleamed in the morning sunlight.

 

She was going to box up every last piece in their boxes and shove them far under her bed and out of sight. She dreads to think what might happen if Kylo finds Ben’s ill intended stash of naughty gifts.

 

Before she can move away from the desk to set about that task. Her phone screen swipes up with a notification from him. She opens her phone and her mouth falls slack. Cheeks heat. And her abdomen clenches.

 

He’d sent her a video. She’d been right, he was in his office. She could see his suit trousers splayed wide open. Unzipped. His belt undone. A shot of his lap from overhead. As his other hand rubbed up and down his rosy red cock.

 

She could hear skin slapping on skin. The wet jerks of his sloppy fist as he strokes himself sharply. His thighs tense and shiver and then she watches as his spurting white cum coats his hand. And he moans her name. Coaxing every last drop out. Fucking up into the grip of his hand.

 

She can’t take her eyes away. Horrified and aroused. She shuts her phone after hearing his rasping mumble.

 

“ _Oh_ , Evie. What you do to me.” Echoes his sinfully dark moan.

 

 

 

~ 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day Five without Kylo - and she’s back to work. This new weeks article is about the local pottery artist in town. Maggie.

 

She was an excellently kooky woman. With dark hair shot through with silver. She wore funky dark clothes and plenty of dangly, hammered silver jewellery. She made lots of ceramic spattered with bright paint. Or glazed with nature patterns like leaves, or flowers. She was moving onto ceramic sculpture and had won an arts grant from a local gallery. Evie was sent to cover the story.

 

It actually morphed more into a friendly chat. Maggie was hilarious and she nattered on and on. She served Evie cup after cup of camomile tea, from her quirky green teapot set. And Evie filled half a notebook in the first half hour alone. And then she took for for a tour of the sprawling barn that served as her workshop. The smell of hot clay wet and soggy in the air. Sitting in the room like a fat lazy slug.

 

Maggie encourages Evie to get stuck right in. She pointed to a wall full of wobbly, clunky ceramics and said “Everyone, stranger or friend, who comes through those workshop doors has to make something for me. Leave their own unique trace on it.” She beams as she ties a spattered muddy apron over Evie’s blue dress, and encourages her towards the wheel.

 

It’s actually great fun. Evie gets into it more than she anticipated. She ends the interview with fun shots Maggie takes on her phone of her with clay stained hands. Some of it even splashed up over her face and across her cheek. She laughed edging it away with the back of her clean wrist. Evie got some much better snaps of Maggie being professional at her wheel. Whereas Evie’s piece looked like someone took to a deep domed teacup with a rolling pin.

 

Maggie cherished it. She said she’d crown it proudly on her shelf. Evie snorted that she’d understand if she chucked it right in the trash after she left. It was a brown, clunky, misshapen warped thing. It barely deemed the term pottery at all. Maggie swayed close, in a cloud of patchouli, and cupped her hands to tell her with a soft beam that it was ‘ _Her essence. Her trace.’_ And that she adored it.

Evie left with a thoroughly good story to put to press. A fluttery hot heart full of laughter. And a warm tin of zucchini bread with odes from Maggie’s wife. She was flying high in spirits. Asking her newfound whacky potter friend to email her through the pictures for the article. She walks the short sunny journey back into town. Not more than a ten minute walk to the office.

 

She’s smiling to herself over her afternoon of clay moulding and fun. When she comes along peach street, closer to the centre of town. Starting to recognise the white colonial houses and terraces. Familiar trees and yards. Now looking inti the town square. She stops short.

 

There was a tall dark man awaiting her attention on a public bench. With a pantie dropping smirk on his lips. Ray-ban’s on. And two paper cups of coffee in hand.

 

She blinked twice to make sure she was really seeing him. He wasn’t a mirage bought on by too many cups of camomile tea and her jovial mood. Bread tin in hand, she crosses the road and strides slowly towards him. He watches the dress sway around her knees as she moved. Sandals slipped on her feet.

 

“I assume you’re waiting for me?” She asks gently. Folding her hands in front of her. Asking kindly.

 

“Damn right I am.” He smirks.

 

He was rested back suavely on that bench as if he owned it. That, and the whole damn street. She’d never knew a man could look so good casually dressed. And of course he can pull it off. Thick chest, arms and pecs in a tight white t-shirt. Relaxed fit denim on his long powerful, trunks of legs. Sat low to his trim hips. Dark grey sneakers on his feet.

 

She buries down deep how she so badly wants to run her hand down that big solid chest. Feel those bunched tense muscles under her hand. It seems like years since she’s felt Kylo’s body beneath her fingertips.

 

He hands her over the coffee cup. And she takes it. She only drank coffee every now and then. Only once in a while when she needed a jolt. A boost. To get her going. Or to move her through speedily typing out an article.

 

She’s eyes him curiously. He scans her up and down. Every dress of hers, he decided, made her look _damn_ cute.

 

Today’s is no different. Baby blue dress. Tied with a belt. Big floppy sleeves. Big flowy skirts. Something about the spotted pattern of it and the way she scooped her hair up reminded him of a Donna Reed-esque fifties housewife. The kind with perfectly lacquered hair, a sugary attitude, and a neat white string of pearls to boot.

 

He’s not gonna deny how sexy he’d find her, trussed up in a shirtwaist dress.

 

Plenty of poof and ruffled petticoats. Little white hostess’s apron around her waist. Kitten heels. The _whole_ shebang. Handing him a martini when he got home. _Fuck_. He’d throw her on that dining room table, next to the perfect pot-roast and mashed potatoes shes cooked, and he’d find her clit under all those petticoats and drive her _wild_.

 

Because isn’t it an amazing leap to think this sweet girl might have finally triggered Ben Solo - the Casanova and king fuck boy of all bachelors - into finally coming to favour a domestic, romantic setting.

 

“What are you doing here if I dare ask?” Evie adds slowly.

 

Taking a sip of her coffee. It was good. She hazarded a guess he got it from the diner in town. She recognised Lou’s signature blend. A little nutmeg and vanilla mixed in. That and the town greasy spoon’s logo ‘ _Lou’s_ ’ on the cup was a giveaway. She found it oddly endearing that he queued up at her local small diner all just to bring her a cup of coffee.

 

Of course, Ben being Ben. She knew he’d have an ulterior motive.

 

“Just wanted to see my gorgeous Kitten.” He explains with a smug grin. Sipping his own cup.

 

And _oh_ , he’d seen her. He’d seen _plenty_ of her. He’d seen her going to work. Going out later to go to that Pottery woman’s house. He’s watched her all afternoon. Sat on the Veranda having tea with the whacky artist. He watches her in the pottery barn. Splattering clay all over herself. He rushes back to town before she leaves so he can get the coffee and look like he just innocently stumbled into her small town. And caught her by sheer chance.

 

She kept denying him. And it just kept on gnawing at him. Burrowing a hole in his stomach that couldn’t be filled.

 

He could fuck ten, twenty or, thirty women and he was safely convinced that _none_ of them would fill the void quite like fucking her would.

 

He couldn’t stop this ache in the pit of his stomach that made him greedy for her. He meant what he said the morning after ‘ _that night’_ as they fucked in the bathroom. He really _couldn’t_ get enough of her. It was a disease of his mind: his want for Evie. Made all the stronger by Kylo booting him out her bed. Why should his elder twin be the one to get her all to himself? Why should Ben have to settle for coming second best? _Pun_ _intended_. 

 

“Walk you back to the office?” He asks. Gesturing it around to make it seem like he hadn’t been watching her all morning. Knowing exactly where the gazette’s head office was.

 

“You came _all_ the way out here to bring me a cup of coffee, whilst I’m on assignment, and now you to walk me back to my office?” She asks plainly.

 

“Yes I _do_.” He intones with a dark smirk that hid his true meaning. He yanks off his shades and hooks them into his shirt collar.

 

Evie looks up at this playful titan playboy. She searches those warm cocoa eyes for his sincerity. She doesn’t get much past his gleaming hickory eyes and flirty smile.

 

She’s too baffled by his behaviour to respond in a way she deems as correct. He’d sent her a gold plated vibrator and nipple clamps; sent her a video cumshot, and now here he is rocking up out of the blue with coffee. It’s confusing.

 

“ _Okay_ then.” She says with furrowed brow and suspicion. Stepping to the path down the square.

 

Ben strides, falling into step next her. Legs carrying him tall and proud. He lumbers suavely along beside her. Frayed jeans scuffing the pavement. He looked about ready to do a catwalk for Calvin Klein in his current carefree ensemble that he made look too sexy. She especially didn’t pay attention to the way his arms and pecs looked so good in his shirt.

 

But she _secretly_ _did_.

_“_ What’s in the tin, babe?” He asks. Breaking the silence as they walked along. Sipping their coffee. Evie tried not to feel awkward.

 

“Maggie, the artist I interviewed, her wife Ally, made zucchini bread.” Evie tells. Ben nods. “Wouldn’t let me out the house without pressing it in my hands.” She tells. The come to the corner of the town square. Stepping off the spiked emerald grass.

 

“Now that’s just mean.” He mocks. One hand slipped casually in his pocket.

 

She makes a pinched face. “I love zucchini bread.” She explains.

 

Ben smiles. “No disrespect intended.” He says lightly. “I tip my hat off to you people who can cook. The closest to cooking I’ve ever come to in my life is when I make _toast_.”

 

She eyes his muscle mass. “You’re not telling me you live on toast, are you?” She seeks. A body, work of art, like that needed protein. Fibre. A balanced diet and exercise.

 

She knew a bit about him. He drank $500 bottles of wine just with the appetisers. He likes rare steak, and venison and red meat. And he had a sweet tooth for French deserts. She can’t imagine what lifestyle he must lead to never have learned how to cook.

 

If anything, it makes her a little sad. All cooking skills she knew, she learnt from her dear old gran. Ben and Kylo most likely had no one to teach them how to look after themselves as kids. How to cook. Clean. Wash clothes. Look after themselves. They probably had to adapt on their own. And that’s no life at all.

 

“Lets say cooking is not the _hobby_ that I actively enjoy pursuing.” He flirts. Winking.

 

She sips her coffee and ignores the very not-so-subtle subtext of that comment. _Of course it isn’t._ _  
_

“I had grasped that fact.” She says with a poignant smile.

 

He leers. And it’s _filthy_.

 

“ _Ouch_. Kitten has claws. I’ll be sure to tell Kylo to watch out for them.” He adds. She side eyes him with a plain look. They both chuck their finished coffee cups away on the corner of Franklyn Street.

 

“You might not want to push your luck with him so much, Ben. I know you’re family. He’s not the affable, carefree sort.” She frets calmly. Not wanting to see what Kylo would do to his Twin to punish him.

 

Ben wants to say he knows his Twin inside out. _But_.

 

“Maybe I’m not the ‘ _affable sort’_ either.” He repeats with purpose. Leaning in to whisper darkly to her. His body heat came with him. As well as the washing powder woven in his shirt, and his cologne. A white juniper drift.

 

The darkness in his eyes takes her mind ricocheting, reeling right back to Kylo’s own.

 

She looks at him with a furrowed brow. “What kind are you then?” She asks.

 

“A kind who knows what he _wants_. A kind who really, _really_ wants to show a sweet little kitten a good time. Like he did the other night.” He flirts. Molten bronze eyes locking with hers.

 

Her breath skips.

 

“You’re determined. I’ll certainly give you that.” Evie says as a matter of fact. They now rounded the street where her office was. Located down the far end of the sidewalk they now stood on.

 

“Comes from having an ungodly amount of stamina. I believe Kylo’s the same.” He leers. “But I have _more_.” He promises dirtily.

 

She’d never doubt that. Not after the other night, anyhow.

 

“Well. Sans stamina. My mind remains unchanged. Lovely gesture of coffee and good intentions included.” She tells him with a look she hopes comes across as firm.

 

“How about walking you back to your office? Does that get me anything?” He flirts.

 

“A Thank you.” She holds out. Stepping now to the front door of the gazettes office. She steps up onto the concrete ledge of the doorstep.

 

He comes up close. Crowding her into the door. The ledge not giving her even any advantage in height whatsoever. He towers. And he backs her slightly into the door.

 

“We talked about this.” Evie says in a breathy whisper. Gesturing to the scant gap between them. Her breathing ragged as he eyes up her reaction to their proximity.

 

Panting breath. Gaspy voice. Eyes switching from his lips to his eyes. Meanwhile he just smiles and presses a hand beside her head. Caving her into the door. Looking at her with those feral bronzed eyes.

 

“I’ll walk the fuck away right now and back off, if you tell me you’re in _no way_ attracted to me...” He says hotly. His deep voice plunging like an wrecking baritone earthquake into her skin.

 

She opens her mouth. Her breath is sweet. He’s so close he can almost taste it. Camomile and coffee. Sweet. Spicy. Alluring.

 

“And if I’m not attracted?” She asks. Cheeks and neck now pink too. Their breath scorching their mouths. Drying out lips. Blistering skin.

 

His smirk curls. Like Kylo’s did. “You’re a shitty liar. Babe.” He husks. Tilting his head, leaning in. Whispering onto her cheek.

 

His other hand slithers over her hip and rake their bodies as one. She whines.

 

“See? I think your problem Evie, is that you _do_ want me. You’re just scared of what Kylo might do if he hears about us fucking whilst he’s away.” He hushes.

 

She swallows. Shuts her eyes. But she can’t block out the _feel_ of him. Reddening her cheeks. Making her feel feeble all over again.

 

“I just want to make you feel _so_ damn good, Evie...” He rasps onto her neck. He leans in for a kiss on the mouth but she twists her head away. His teeth hit her corded throat instead. Sucking there.

 

“Evelyn?” Comes a barking voice from behind them.

 

Evie jerks her head away from Ben to see a southern old spitfire on the sidewalk behind them. She opens her mouth but no words come out. Ben twists around, smirking to see the short little old woman behind them.

 

Flo.

 

Dressed in her usual market uniform of navy capri pants. Orthopaedic beige shoes. And a blue button up with market logo on the breast pocket. The market was just across the road. They’ve been caught like two randy teens dry-humping at the Prom.

 

Ben twists about to face Flo. Towering a look down across the old bird. Who opens her mouth with a sneer and remarks very eloquently that;

 

“Holy shit. I forgot there were _two_ of you.” She intones cheekily. Eyeing the space between them with a raised brow.

 

She spies Ben’s hand on her hip with her hawk eyes.

 

“Double dippin? Evie. You _wicked_ thing.” Flo winks. Evie puts a lot of distance between them. Stepping out from under him. To the side.

 

“Ben this is Flo. Flo. Ben.” Evie introduces in a squeaky broken voice as she fluffs her hair. And tries to remain calm.

 

Ben turns around fully with a grin and solidly sticks out a hand for Flo to shake. Easy-going charming smile on his lips.

 

“How’s it goin?” He smirks at Flo’s little frame. She takes his big hand and shakes it back gladly. Eyeing him with her inscrutable concern.

 

“Where’s your...” Flo gestures up and down on him. “Carbon copy?”

 

Ben chuckles.

 

“Away on work business.” Ben leers. “I was just keeping Evie company. Didn’t want her getting too lonely.”

 

“Very wise of you I’m sure.” Flo intones with a voice that tells him she’s canny about his more _exact_ motives.

 

“I gotta run along. My breaks almost over.” Evie tells the both of them. Ben turns back and plucks her hand into his. Eyeing her sexily he lifts it to his lips and kisses the back of it.

 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long for that _fuck_.” He half mouths and whispers out of Flo’s earshot as he swoops in and gently kisses her cheek.

 

He pulls back and eyes her as she smiles a coy goodbye. He turns to Flo and does the same. Kisses her hand.

 

“Lovely to meet you ma’am.” He winks at her with his best woman felling charm that even gets Flo fidgeting with her hair. Cheeks heating. She giggled like a fanciful schoolgirl.

 

“ _Ladies_.” He grins as he departs. Striding off jauntily down the pavement. A spring in his step. Porsche keys twiddled around his finger.

 

They both watch him go. Evie on the doorstep watching the lumbering stretch of his back and shoulders. Flo tilts her head to watch his powerfully gorgeous tight ass sway in his jeans. She whistles low as she watched Ben walk the walk.

 

“Rail me sideways if both those boys don’t got one _helluva_  fine ass on em.’” Flo leers. “I’d dig my old talons in them cheeks _any_ day of the week.”

 

Evie rolls her eyes at her no-good, Randy as a bull, adoptee Grandma.

 

“That one looked about as slippery as _soap_ , Winslow.” Flo warns before she totters off. Off to go and get to her shift at the market.

 

Evie nods. “Apt description.” She sighs with a contemplating furrow on her brow.

 

“A girl could lather _all up_ in soap like that.” Flo cackles as she walks away. She waved a cursory goodbye over her shoulder. She waves back sadly. Mind elsewhere.

 

“Tell me about it.” Evie mumbles under her breath. Turning to let herself in the office. Sighing glumly. Already knowing she’d have to disappoint Ben’s wishes.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do be so good as to feed this little inbox trash gremlin. Lives on Kylo thirsts; dirty thots; and real good comments. 
> 
> (Lol all your comments are real good to me)


	25. Distance & Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruthless businessman Kylo being all sexy and cruel. Don’t get me started on how fucking hot I find that ok? Or I’ll never shut my face about it. 
> 
> If looking for a musical ditty Chapter mood; you might like to try ‘Imagination.’ by Foster The People. 
> 
> Just curiously, Do you guys have any music that makes you think of this fic? Or a chapter? Or the characters? Lemme know. I can add it to this bitch; https://open.spotify.com/user/libbyvioletturner/playlist/3D35N77ff39RCo4kwb3Wah?si=LldbVqjyTQ-6zEH8AbD3Lw

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kylo stepped out onto his suites terrace. Glass of whiskey to hand.

 

His eyes roaming over the priceless view of Lake Lucerne. All his. Offered up to his eyes from his position in the deluxe presidential suite. He topped the hotel. And the room was every bit as exquisite as its view.

 

The hotel Bürgenstock perches mighty and tall, a rectangular and brutal block of glass, concrete and steel that towers large on the edge of the banks of the Lucerne. The panorama was nothing but sapphire lake and sky. Grey mountain hemmed jagged in-between.

 

He’d just come from an exquisite dinner downstairs in the Salon 1903. Dripping with Michelin Stars, and famed clientele.

 

Kylo sat for a dinner with Dominick and his blonde wife. Dominick was a stick thin eccentric, local business mogul. Olive skin. Salt and pepper hair. Stylish 60’s glasses. With a green velvet suit on and a grey turtleneck under. His wife, Annetta, a blonde who was as thin as him. Honey hair swirled up on her head in a beehive. Fat wreaths of diamonds glittered off her thin wrists and skeletal neck. She was practically stitched into her tiny Dior dress and had a pearly smile that was every bit as warm was her eager husbands.

 

The swiss billionaire was only all too pleased and keen to invest in him and his firm. Already seeking after _him_ personally to build him some new homes. A house in Zermatt, a mansion out near St. Moritz. An apartment in Zürich. And a cabin lodged high up in the Wetterhorn mountains, in  Grindelwald. He wanted Kylo’s stamp on of them. And the bill for the job totalled more than Kylo made his first year at Maddox & Haig alone. Approaching near $12 million. He was _awfully_ proud of that.

 

And then after their main course, as _if_ Kylo had needed further persuasion. Dominick had also pledged him a $5 million deposit-come-bonus for going to all of the ‘ _trouble_ ’ of flying him out here. On his own jet no less. Kylo smirked, swirling his red wine, a local 64’ Bordeaux in his glass, and asked where can he sign the contract. They’d all had a glass of Träsch to celebrate the deal. It was a good deep brandy, made from cider pears. After dessert and the cheese and coffee. He’d wished them both a good evening and gone back up to his suite for a steam and a shower. More than pleased with his success. And so he should be.

 

That would show the worthless prick who had the tenacity to fire him from his job. Claiming it was just ‘ _bad business_ ’ with a sneer after Kylo’s arrest. _Well_. Kylo got his sweet deserved revenge. The last laugh. He’d stormed suavely into the M&H offices last week.

 

Strolling in like a hell fury. The entire office had gawped at him there, in his Tom Ford suit. Turning up like a bad horrible dark nightmare. He strolled right up to his ex-bosses office. Burst open the door and invited himself in. Sitting down in the chair opposite his desk. Announcing that he’d just bought every last share in the company.

 

He’d be stripping out the head designers, the HR team. Accounts. And all the rest of it. He’d take every last client with him. And they could have whatever scraps were left.

 

And there was _nothing_ they could do. But sit back. As Kylo pillaged the company and took what he felt he was owed.

 

He’d start everyone on much higher wages than their current salary. They’d all sign contracts under the new empire. R&R design industries. He had a spotless modern office ready to house them all. This was just a courtesy call to let his old Boss know that he was soon to be saddled with a bankrupt boneless company. That he would be losing all his clients. Staff. Jobs. And every last smidgeon of respectability, and reputation.

 

As ruthless in life, as he was in business. Was Kylo Ren.

 

When the irate man opposite him had flew into a rage at Kylo. And asked why he was making his life hell. Kylo sat there with a curling smile. Cruel eyes that shine granite black with malice, and simply answered;

 

“It’s just _bad_ business.” With a pleased grin on his lips more unholy than the devil itself.

 

Sat now, on his five star terrace. Yet to undress and shower. Still in his Westwood suit. A Dolce scarlet cashmere jumper worn underneath his black Westwood suit; rather than a shirt. The cold got to him up here at this altitude.

 

He’s poured himself a stiff drink to enjoy. And now relaxed back on his real-fur lined terrace chair.

 

Cloaked now in blue twilight, he watches boats skim across the lake. Carving through the surface in the gliding way scissors shear paper. Rippling the water. He loves how the body of water is smooth across the horizon like a sheet of Prussian blue satin. He can see a far off valley where the small town of Meggen glimmers opposite. Lights twinkling golden in the ink blue of night like sparklers.

 

In the distance he can see where the dominant snowy mountains kiss the sky. He rather feels in sync with the gigantic rocky structures tonight. He too stands tall and proud. Contented. Up in the sky like he belonged with the gods. In his luxury suite he felt about as cherished as one. His phenomenally rich investor had promised him the finest hotel suite in Switzerland. He had doubtlessly delivered on that score. For _gods sake_ , he even had his own spa room on hand if he wanted it with a private masseuse on call.

 

He had a grand piano in his penthouse sitting room. Quartzite walls and walnut floors. He had a jacuzzi bathroom. Bvlgari soaps and shampoos lining the shelves. A dining area that could seat twenty. And a terrace with a fireplace the roared and kept him warm as toast, even though it was almost approaching freezing out here.

 

He liked the cold climate. Liked the way the wind whipped its frosty fingers at his hair. He closes his eyes and takes a lung full of that clean, icy Swiss air that sat thick on his mouth like gooey honey. His mind went circling back to thoughts of home.

 

Home, and the certain _someone_ he left behind. He kept drifting back to Evie like his mind was a compass and she was due north.

 

Next time he comes away for business, when and wherever that may be, he toys with the possibility of bringing her with him. She was a shy little home-bird. It’d be good for her to see other cultures. New foods. New sights. He’d like to show her.

 

As much as he gelled well with Nordic countries and appreciated their clean Scandi-design. And there was nothing better on earth than holing up in a warm cabin in the mountains for a week with a stack of books and a log fire roaring. As well as he knew she’d enjoy a quiet, bookish indoor holiday. Kylo reckoned Kitten needed to get some more tropical sun on her skin.

 

He had a sneaky feeling her english rose pallor would look damn good tanned a soft bronze. It made him want to whisk her away to a spit of a tropical sandy island for three weeks. Watch that pale skin turn beautifully golden in the sun. The tantalising daydream image of her curvy soft little body, bronzed and svelte, in a two piece, reclined out on a sun lounger under the scorch of a Mediterranean sun, helped to fuel that along nicely too. He had a feeling his sun starved skin too would cherish a tropical getaway.

 

He could picture the temptation of it all: Salty kisses. Lounging under rare palm tree shade. Endless cobalt skies. White sand like icing sugar between his toes. The lap of a tepid sea frothing and curling at his ankles. Feeling sun beating down on his beaded wet skin as he swam in crystal blue that ripples against his shimmering body. Almost back to nature on the most desolate island. Them being the only two bodies around for miles.

 

He’d buy one just to turf everyone off and make it theirs if that’s what it took. And it is dangerous to _dare_ even think about what he could get up to on their own private island.

 

Evie’s _naked_ body under him, dripping sweat, and coconut scented oil to rub and slick onto him as he pulls her tiny bikini to the side and makes himself at home in her hot, wet body. Making her writhe and scream on that sun lounger as she tries to sunbathe. Find a shaded spot under a palm to get his mouth on her pussy for all afternoon if he wanted. Get an ocean villa to lie back in bed and watch the waves roll in front of him as she’s between his knees doing that very clever thing with her tongue, on his cock.

 

Who was he _kidding?_ Fuck the swimsuit. He’d have her perpetually naked at all times so he could slide into her at a seconds notice.

 

Now _that_ sounded like a good way to get some sun on his skin.

 

He sighs after a sip of his whisky, tips of his ears turning red and cold as he sits there basking in the frigid evening. His hair fluttered in the wind, and he stares into the fire pit flames as he feels some flakes of snow brush against his jacket.

 

It starts to chip in then, pecking away at his brain that he’s becoming fairly attached to her. His Kitten.

 

She’s more to him now than when they first met. Then, he just wanted to possess her body. Fuck her five ways til Sunday and be done with it. Cut and run. But then he spent some time near her. Being around her because _she_ wanted him to be. And he didn’t understand how she made him feel. That hit him hard.

 

With his exes he always felt usual things. Annoyance. Irritation, mainly. Maybe sometimes lust for them. But he always remained detached.

 

With Evie it’s different. _Calmer_. And he couldn’t even get started on how much he craves her in bed. That ruled him and he both hates, and loves it.

 

His stiffening semi in his suit trousers reminds him plainly of that.

 

Now day was done. And business over. Concluded happily. Now he’s alone he finds his body wants to unwind. Unfurl. His shoulders felt tense, hunched rigid, and his back too, feels stiff. He needs to switch it off. And the best way it knows how? _Evie_.

 

She’s sunk into his skin like acid and burned a hole into him a mile wide. Dependency is not a palatable feeling for a Sociopath to come to terms with. He finds it unsettling to reflect on.

 

Friendships and partners had always been meaningless to him. He’s separated from it all. Set back. It had been overwhelming to see the amount of love her friends had with her, and for her in that little town gathering.

 

He did like Flo though. He knew that much. All pretence and charm aside. He did appreciate her. For all the ways she reminded him of the last person he’s certain he ever came close to loving. His Grandma. She’d made him feel like his own relative was alive again for a second. That warm sense of caring familiarity in her he recognised.

 

He likes knowing he’ll be going home to his Kitten in a few days time. And he won’t be going back empty handed to her either.

 

He’s going to have a business deal enshrining his new firm in good reputation which will bring in plenty of clients and money. Dominick was backing his solid business plan. Contract signed. Validated by both their teams of expensive lawyers. They were both eager to watch the profits grow. And they would.

 

He also needed Annetta’s advice too. A private matter which related to a certain someone back home. She’d been only too pleased to help him out with a suggestion. He’d go to the place she recommended tomorrow. Only a three hours drive from here to Geneva. He could be there and back by the time the three of them go for dinner at the winery down the road.

 

He finishes his drink and watches the night folding in darker around him. Hunger and whiskey gnawing at his belly. Woodsmoke from the fire dancing on in the chilling breeze that carded through his hair. He was watching the stars winking down at him from the svelte black velvet heavens. As if appraised of his good fortune.

 

He smiles. For the first time in four years. Kylo cracks a genuine _smile_ to himself.

 

He stands up and goes inside for his phone where he left it in the living room. He had a call to make before bed.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The muggy heat of summer had, for once, given way to a rainy grey day. The cloudy grey up above her. A rain soaked sky. Full of heavy rain. Spitting heavily. Pouring over the woods and drenching her little garden. She didn’t mind. Matter of fact she welcomed it.

 

She looked out her kitchen window. Watching the foggy inside smear up the rain dotted windowpane. Sliding grey and cool outside. Tapping on the ledge like drumming fingers.

 

She was stood in her merry warm kitchen. The air warm and heavy with the scent of roasting vegetables and herbs, still streaked with rain from her garden.

 

With the first shower of cold rain came her desire for hot food. And some home made roasted veg soup seemed to fit the bill. Fresh baked bread too. The two married together well. She was entertaining the idea of a cosy night in with a book, and bottle. Or maybe a movie if reading got too quiet for her.

 

She’s wrapped up in her apron, chopping up the messy tomato hearts. Hands messy with tomato seeds. Cheeks pink from the heat - and glass of wine. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings, her grey furry slippers. And a long sleeve dove grey Henley to get rid of the nipping bite in the air.

 

She listens to the rain tamp down noisily on her roof tiles. The snipping shift of her knife hitting board. So concentrated on her task, the rain, the calm silence, she barely _hears_ her phone ring.

 

She turns around and scrutinises it she’d rested it on her pile of cookbooks.

 

Most of Ben’s texts, calls, dining invites and other invites had died out now. But she was still wary of more notifications or still, more visits from him. Or gifts. His porn paraphernalia stash from the other day is shoved so far back under her bed. Hidden in a storage box, so it never comes to see the light of day.

 

She puts her knife down. Having finished dicing peppers and garlic. She wipes her stained red hands and juggles sipping her tall glass of wine, with crossing to her phone across her cold kitchen floor.

 

Her heart somersaults and trips into a aria in stunning high pitch, past a high C sharp, when she sees its Kylo calling her. Her face breaks out into a smile so glad she almost gets whiplash with how quickly she dashed for the phone.

 

“Kylo.” She answers quickly. Breathlessly. He grins on hearing her eager smile as she picked up.

 

He was pacing along the end of his super king bed. Sinking his bare feet into the thick carpet. Stood by the window. Now only in his jumper and trousers. His Omega watch still on. But the rest of him stripped down. Relaxed. Ready to talk.

 

“How’s my Kitten?” He grins. Deep voice sliding along her skin like the finest caress.

 

Even his words delighted her. She’d welcome them. She wanted him to claim her like that. She _wants_ reminding that she’s _his_. She wants to run into that big wide safe chest and burrow into him. Smell the cologne on his dress shirt. Feel it and his hot skin furnacing her cheek. Feel those massive arms close her in.

 

At just hearing him her voice goes all timid. And her skin is awash with pin-pricks of delight. “I’m alright.” She smiles gladly. So beyond pleased to hear his voice. It’s like a balm to her needy soul that longs for him as he’s gone.

 

Her chest gets funny stabby pains when she wonders if she should tell him about Ben’s recent antics.

 

“How’s Switzerland?” She asks. Brimming over with excitement. Wiping her hands on her messy stained apron.

 

“Freezing. But I like that.” He answers openly.

 

“And work?” She seeks.

 

He smirks. “It’s going beautifully.”

 

“I’m pleased. You deserve a good thing.” She says sweetly idly twirling a fingertip around the front of the cookbook in front of her. She was almost nervous in talking to him on the phone. His presence still so palpable it dominated and dwarfed her.

 

He shuts his eyes. Smiling at her ever prevailing sweetness. She wouldn’t be saying that if she saw the other side of him. The man who could bankrupt companies without a care. Who could kill or maim with conscience.

 

He turns and braces his back against the cool glass window and looks directly opposite at his bed. Softly glowing in the spotlights like a _beacon_.

 

He could picture them on that bed. Him rutting his big heavy dick into her tightness. Tugging her onto him. Fucking into her body as she wept his name in _bliss_.

 

He bites his lip and his cock stirs in his pants. He wants to palm it. But he doesn’t. He just lets it fill out all on its own. Trying to remember the delicious taste of her. The ways she cums on him. The way she _moans_...

 

He’s turned on merely from hearing her shy little voice alone.

 

“Your sweet pussy missing me yet kitten?” He asks in a low drawl. Voice so pleasant and husky she has to dig her hand into the kitchen countertop. Nails clawing in as the first wave of arousal shuddered through her. His voice hit that register that was finer and deeper to listen too than the thrum of a double bass.

 

“ _All_ of me misses you. Kylo.” She explains.

 

Swallowing. The way her tummy flutters and the way her thighs clamp together makes her know that she isn’t lying in any regard.

 

“But that part _especially_ misses your touch...” She says bravely in a added whisper. Cheeks glaring red. She actually found herself gazing around to check that no one heard her dirty words.

 

“I bet it fucking does.” He rasps.

 

“You haven’t cum for at least six days. Must be aching by now.” He growls with a smile. “I know I am.” He explains darkly. She can hear his panting breaths.

 

He’s making her toes curl up in her slippers.

 

“Where are you baby?” He asks her. Self indulgently palming his erection and groaning when he gets his hand around himself. Stroking himself harder.

 

“Kitchen.” She answers timidly. Fingers stroking the stem of her wine glass.

 

“Get that cute little ass upstairs, in bed, _now_.” He demands.

 

She pulls the phone away from her ear and sets it down. And yanks off her apron and re-hangs it on the hook by the door. She goes back for her phone. Swelling with disappointment when she sees the call has dropped. But a second later his call comes back. _A video call._

 

She grabs her phone and swipes it open. Taking the call and walking upstairs. Then her big bad man is there. On her screen. She rounds the bedroom door and smiles down at him. He’s giving those dark sexy eyes. The shade of his hair dark and brimming his eyes.

 

On his top half she can see the a v-necked scarlet jumper wreathed about his tattooed collarbone. She’s missed his pale broadly beautiful face. Pocked with moles and lashed down one side with his scar. All that violence written onto his skin by some thugs knife. And she couldn’t love him more for it - however that’s a thought best saved for another time.

 

His voice comes cracking, rasping through the phone. A sexy purr. Behind him she can see the panoramic view of a ink black lake taking up all the horizon.

 

“You better be getting naked for me.” He smirks. That curl twitching up his lips. Eyes glimmering.

 

She bites her lower lip. “Not enough hands.” She teases brightly. Content just to look at him.

 

He moves on the screen. There’s a blur of garnet and she sees him throw the jumper to the floor. His feet pad the carpet, and then she’s back on him. He’s sat shirtless on his big wide beige bed. Flawlessly crisp sheets tucked into place.

 

He raises a brow at her. “Wanna play it that way,  _huh_ Kitten?” He asks dangerously. Looking into the phone at her. His other hand fidgets with something.

 

He tilts his phone down. She nearly _drops_ hers.

 

He spreads his legs and gives her a slow show. Slowly unzipping. Taking off his belt. Underwear tucked under his erection. Under his tight balls that felt heavier than iron where he hasn’t been spending them in her as of late.

 

She’s stood at the foot of her bed. Hooking her hand hard into the bedstead when she sees the view he’s offering. A _far_ better one than the vista of the Swiss lake.

 

She’s looking directly at his humungous cock. Freed from his trousers. Throbbing in his hand as he slowly stroked himself. The angle of the screen didn’t do his gorgeous long length justice.

 

He’s flushed that beautiful rosy pink. Her mouth wets. He’s dripping plentifully down himself, precome slipping down. She gasps anew when he flips the screen again. Giving her a shot of him stroking at her eyes her directly through his phone, and growls a horny smile at her.

 

“Missed this slamming into your cunt though haven’t you.” He tells her. Letting her see how he curls his hand around himself.

 

Kylo could see she was blushing and transfixed on him. He was going to have to change that.

 

“Want me to tell you all about how much I wanted to corrupt you like this when we first met?” He leers. Thumbing a big thumb over a sticky drop drooling out himself.

 

She doesn’t realise how her thighs are shaking. Or how her mouth has fallen slack and she’s just groaned breathily in sheer arousal

 

“I wanted to be in that interview room. Stroking my dick like this when you walked in to see me. I’d have had you on that table. Prim panties ripped off. Face down as I shoved every inch of this in your dripping pussy and fucked you til I couldn’t hold out for one more thrust.” He fucks his hand with emphasis on his last word.

 

She’s definitely ruining her knickers with slick by this point.

 

“How about when I first tasted your pussy that night? Did you see my eyes roll back in my head when I finally got my tongue stuffed in you. Cause trust me babe. Everything about your cunt is sweet. And addictive. And all _fucking mine_.” He growls wantonly.

 

She swallows. Gulping. Watching his hand. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. It’s hypnotising. He was so far away and he wants her so much. It’s enough to make her head swim.

 

She wets her lips. Shakily putting her phone down on the bed. She starts taking off her clothes. Propping him up so he could see her.

 

“ _Oh_ fuck yeah.” His voice deepens if that was even possible.

 

“Come on baby. Show me those pretty tits. That cute ass. I’ve missed all of it being under me.” He pants watching her in the screen.

 

Slipping off her top. Kicking off her slippers. Stepping out her leggings. She could feel her abdomen pulsing and knotted with tight anxious energy. Anxious for _release_.

 

She undoes her bra clasp and then slides her panties down over her hips. Even though it was still light where she was. He could see her sunny yellow bedroom walls patched in sunshine. Like a stitched blanket.

 

She rids the last of her garments. Biting her lip as she stands a little awkwardly listening to his panting moans. Slaps of skin. Pink cock getting redder and wetter. Now he was flushed and dewy pink with exertion. She was just tinted red with embarrassment of being so vulnerable to him. She’s never come close to having sex like this before, over the phone. Kylo is giving her a _lot_ of new firsts.

 

“Leg up on the bed over the phone. Show me that pussy.” He pants. Stroking faster. She hesitates. Toes curling into the rug below her feet.

 

“Kitten.” He tuts. “Don’t go getting all shy on me now. Not after all the dirty ways I’ve fucked you. Cum in you.” He snarls a smile.

 

She raised her right leg and balances it up on the not very high bed. Angling the phone so he can see right between her legs. Where she’s creamy and dripping.

 

He chuckles. “Does the sight of me doing this make you cream your panties kitten?” He asks.

 

She nods a gasp. Blushing furiously hot.

 

He shudders. “Get your fingers wet with all that gorgeous slick.” He orders.

 

She drags a hand through her slippery lips. Hips tilting forwards at her own touch she was so turned on. She does what he does when he’s down there. She strokes two fingertips either side of her clit. Building the pressure.

 

“If I we’re there right now. Baby. You’d be bouncing and cumming on my face. I’d make sure you’d grind on and ride my tongue all night.” He tells. “That way I won’t ever miss licking up every _drop_ of you.”

 

“Kylo...” She sighs. In this insanely dirty, embarrassing position. He growls when her fingers sink a little deeper inside herself.

 

“Say my name baby. My cock throbs so hard when you do.” He says. “Look at it. Look what you and your cunt make me do.” He groans. Watching her bounce lightly onto her own fingers as she looks at him. Blue eyes bright. Hair messy. _His favourite._ A fucked out, blissed, rosy red kitten.

 

He nearly loses it when she slides her fingers in deep. He almost bares his teeth. Wishing he was there to suckle her clit as she uses her fingers to pleasure herself.

 

“Do that again.” He grunts. Twisting his wrist over himself. Thighs stuttering with the need to cum. And cum soon. He knows It’s gonna be messy. He hasn’t cum for a whole five days. He wants her to watch it all. He wants to tell her it’s all for her when he empties his heavy tight balls all over his own lap.

 

She does as told: she was so obedient after all. She plunges her fingers in deep. And her sloppy wet pussy squelches on the thrust of them.

 

He really thinks he’ll be lightheaded soon. He’s never passed out from pussy before. But hers is getting him there.

 

“Fuck yourself with your fingers like I did on that picnic blanket at the movies, Evie.” He tells. “Sink in _deep_. Find that spongy spot that makes you quake...”

 

She presses in deep and shakes. Screams his name. And closes her eyes. Face contorted in sheer bliss. Almost like she’s in pain. _But oh how she wasn’t._ Her body is zinging up to heaven and back again.

 

“That’s it babe. That’s _my dirty_ fucking girl. _My good kitten_. _Oh_ I’m gonna fuck you so damn good and hard as a reward when I get back. Split you open and stuff you full with my big cock like you like. Now you _fuck_ that pretty spot hard and fast til you gush for me. Rub your clit with your free hand too...” He instructs. Loving how much her knees were trembling. Just like when he does it.

 

She’s never had pleasure like this - never brought on so strongly by her own fingers. She had to put it down to Kylo telling her how he wants her to make herself climax with her own hand.

 

“I can- I can feel... _Oh_.” She sighs. Other hand slowing on her tight hard clit. Stiff and standing out from under its pink hood. Wet and slimy with arousal.

 

“Right there. Kitten. You want to feel like you’re gonna burst.” He explains. Shifting his hand quicker now too. She’s sailing quick, lightheaded, towards her completion. Watching him stroke his big beautiful veiny cock. Weeping cum all for her.

 

“Kylo. I want to cum.” She whines dirtily. Unbelieving how filthy her mouth was getting.

 

“Fuck. Baby I know you do. I wanna see that pussy flutter around your fingers. Rub. Hard.” He snarls. “And then you can cum. And you can watch me cum. And know that the next time I do. It will be so fucking deep in you. And I’m gonna fuck it back into place where it belongs with my fingers til you squirt. Your cunt is _so good_ at squirting over me.” He rambles.

 

She does as he said. Picking up her pace. He does too. They’re both racing towards pleasure. Her bouncing on her hand. Hips shaking. His were too. Fucking his fist. Fast.

 

He’d give anything to be half a world away with her. In that tiny house. On her creaky bed. Slamming home into her deep and pumping and rutting into her, until they both can’t stand anymore pleasure.

 

“Fuck. Oh fuck. _Kitten_. Next time I come away. You’re bringing that sweet ass with me. I want you here. With me. On me. Under me. Riding me. In my hotel bed and ready to be dicked down each night. Serving that naked pussy up to me whenever I need it. _Shit_.”

 

He cums with a feral growl. Balls tight to his body as he tries to hold the phone and let her see how he leans back splatters most of his chest. His thighs. And the area near his hips on the bed.

 

She cums too. Loud. As he likes her to be. He just finishes squeezing out every last drop of his sticky cum. The sight of that creamy spend landing on his tattooed ribs and stomach, is what triggers her own. She had a sudden obscene want for him to leave his orgasm marking her pale skin. Dripping off her ass or down between her legs. Over her lips.

 

She gasps a long drawn out sound when she hears how wet she is. And how much she cums. A stream bursts from between her fingers and drenches a bit of the phone and the bed. She’s still riding out spasms of it when she hears him chuckle darkly through the call.

 

She sags to the bed. Whining and boneless. Now on all fours. The phone lay flat. Showing him her swaying breasts and rounded stomach. She twists slowly and flips onto her back.

 

He can see her from the side profile. As if he were sat at the end of the bed. Watching. She’s wearing that same expression she uses after he makes her cum by fucking her for hours on end. Blissed out and sweaty. Dead to the world.

 

“Kitten. You _came_ all over your phone.” He darkly groans. His tone suggesting how sexy he found that.

 

_Now_ she understood why he was chuckling. He watched her cum. He must’ve seen it.

 

“Sorr-“ She starts.

 

“Don’t you dare say sorry. That was the hottest _fucking_ thing I’ve ever seen.” He warns.

 

“When I’m home you _better_ do that over my face, babe.” He sighs. Finally letting go of his cock. Hand sticky. Chest heaving still. Just as hers was. He could watch those tits of hers rise and fall until he fell asleep.

 

“Still not as good as you in person.” She sighs quietly. Flopped back on her bed staring at the ceiling with half mast eyes and slippery thighs.

 

“I _know_.” Kylo leers confidently. He brings his phone up to look at her. Wishing he could be right there with her, between her spread thighs, to lick her clean. Lap her up. 

 

“739825.” He says suddenly with a wicked smile.

 

She furrows her brow. Was that the sex haze talking, or did he just say _a number_ at her?

 

“I beg your pardon?” She asks. Sitting up and looking into the phone - wiping it off first, of course.

 

“It’s a key code.” He explains. “Write it down discreetly if you have too. 739825. Remember it.” He instructs enigmatically.

 

She goes for her bedside. Where a pen and paper sat. She scribbled it down with a question mark next to it.

 

“A key code for what?” She asks.

 

“1138 Columbia drive.” He tells.

 

She’s beyond confused. But she writes that down too. _An address?_

 

“Remember that code. Because that’s the the code to get into  _my_ place.” He finally explains.

 

She still confused. And a little stunned.

 

“Do you need me to let someone in?” She seeks.

 

“Yeah.” He says. “ _You_.”

 

Evie’s mouth hinges open like a guppy fish at feeding time. “ _Me?”_

 

“Yes. _You. Kitten.”_ He purrs. He couldn’t make it any plainer. 

 

“I get back in a couple days. Friday night, after work at the paper. I want you to drive over. Let yourself in. And you _will_ be naked and ready for me in my own bed when my flight comes in that night.” He commands.

 

She blushes. Suddenly giddy with excitement. She smiles and bites her lower lip. “I see...” She laughs. Very in love with him right as of now.

 

“My place is closer to the airport. And why should I waste time driving when we could be fucking?” He says.

 

“You make an excellent point.” Evie blushes.

 

“Until then. And I don’t need to _tell_ you what I’ll do to you if you wear panties to bed that night. I’ll let you figure that out yourself. Naked. My bed. Friday. Sweet dreams Kitten.” He leers. And then he’s gone.

 

She’s _squirming_ with excitement already. Lord only knows what Friday would bring her...

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d I do for you my lovely thirsty darlings?


	26. Exploring & Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. The first part of this is description heavy. Bucket full of soz about that. 
> 
> And the porn in this one? Got one word for ya; belt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie edged her little car slowly down the broad road. The trees overhead seemed more green and spreading out here. She never had cause to come this high up in the Hills. It was a veritable millionaires row.

 

Driving past gates and front yard entrances that were bigger and wider than her whole house. And some of the houses so far down a winding road she couldn’t even make them out from her car. The ones she could told her instantly of the sheer moneyed nature of this part of the neighbourhood.

 

She saw sprawling Italian style villas. Gardens full of bay and olive trees. Big modern colonials with huge extensions. Massive mansions with gleaming Porsche’s and Audi’s in the drive. Immaculate manicured gardens.

 

She finds it daunting. Especially as she pottered along the road in her clunked out little second hand Honda. She’s scanning house numbers and eventually, she comes to one, set far back from the rest along the street. Perched on its own with a big dark sleek gateway. Evie double checked the slip of paper in her hand - though she’s re-read it several times by now. She knows what it says.

 

Especially because it matches the  numbers she can see enshrined in gleaming silver digits on the gate.

 

1138 Columbia Drive.

 

Her tummy squirms in anxiousness. She turns the car into the grey paved brick of the entry way. A keypad for her to access by the drivers window. She enters the code and the gates sleekly shudder open. She inches her car in up the drive.

 

Her jaw hung open.

 

The road curved up, onto a slight incline. Surrounded by lush impossibly green grass and well trimmed modern garden. Spiked tropical plants and white gravel beds sunk with exotic ferns. And high on the incline at the top, sat a house that wouldn’t look out of place as the front page of a home design magazine. She couldn’t see much from the road. But now she can see _all_ of it in its entirety.

 

She has to pump the brakes halfway up and stop _just_ purely to marvel at it’s brutal magnificence.

 

She didn’t know what she was expecting Kylo’s home to look like. She’s not entirely surprised by its basic, barren design. But she is taken aback by how beautiful, and colossal it is.

 

It was a big, sleek black block. A mid century glass house. An entirely dark edifice. And no wonder it was so closed off from the sight of the road. Floor to ceiling glass showed her big sections of the home within. It was a big three story block that levelled down three times, like stairs. The whole thing from the road was just a square, but behind it one side his back out into an L shape. The longest part now facing her. The drive leading her into a dipped down two-twin garage. Tall eucalyptus bay green trees crowded the house from every angle.

 

She knew he had an Aston. His prized jet black and very much cherished Aston DBS superleggera. But she wouldn’t be surprised to think what couple of other expensive sports cars lurked beyond the conceal of those garage doors. She feels very inadequate parking her second hand clunker on this drive. But she eases into a space. And shuts off the engine.

 

She climbs out her car, in her sea foam green wrap around chiffon dress. And worn old sandals. And just gazes up at the magnificently dark house that towers above. She just drinks it in. Before she steps up the big white slab of marble steps and up to the front porch. Sunk beds of white gravel hemmed in the porch slabs, a small variety of exotic cactuses and succulents lining the way, not a stone was out of place. It wouldn’t _dare_.

 

His house fit in perfectly with the polished and gleaming proud houses she’s seen lining the road she drove in on.

 

She can’t believe it. He had this exquisitely modern masterpiece of a house. Yet he told her he felt calmer in her shabby little two up, two down shack in the woods. With its peeling wallpaper and squeaky floors. And he had a mansion like this as his home. She could feel cosy here. It must be glorious in the rain and wind. Curling up in the lap of luxury next to a big window on a cool day. Get the fireplace roaring, and a cup of steaming hot tea. And watch the rain fall and fuss on the other side of the glass.

 

She’d get her stuff out of the car soon. For now she’s too mesmerised with the place. She just wants to explore.

 

She comes to the huge front door. A sleek wedge of glass framed in heavy steel. The metal handle running the full length of it. No key holes. He was a thoroughly modern man. There was another keypad by the door. She punches in the code and an LED flashes green. The door cracks open and she pushes the solid heavy thing inwards.

 

A wave of cool and the scent of his home engulfs her in a cloud as she steps inside. Lemon, neroli and sandalwood. It’s masculine and clean. A definite indication that this was a bachelors pad.

 

Pressing the door shut behind her. Then she’s scuffing her feet on the bristly door mat. She then errs on the side of extreme caution and takes off her shoes just in case. Toeing them off and leaving them in a clump by the doormat. She looks left and right, the house branches off each way, and she’s trying to decide which way to go first.

 

She opts for right. Stepping down the polished tiles and white hallway, coming into what looks like a reading corner. Decorated in shades of differing light mink and dove grey, to go with the black outer exterior of the house.

 

A wide wall is decorated with a stretching bookshelf. Not crammed with books like her own house. But a few thick stacks of them are placed neatly on each shelf. Evie saw a diffuser reed glass jar, which doubtless gave out the gorgeous scent of his place. Flat wide sofas are immaculately finished with fat plump grey velvet cushions arranged perfectly. Flanking a low coffee table also lined with architecture books. And a glass hurricane vase with two stalks of short furry willow buds. She likes a man who’s not afraid to have greenery or flowers in his home.

 

There’s not many mementos or photos. No knick knacks littered anywhere she can see. She was expecting that. He was a sleek, minimalist architect. She’s a kitschy old style gatherer of everything. She wasn’t exactly expecting a hoarders trove in here - like her own house. Crammed in wall to wall with pictures, objects memories and general nostalgic clutter. She kept it neat. She was a tidy person. But Kylo’s trimmed an manicured house made her own look like a shabby chic, antique mess.

 

She steps past the snug, and peers curiously through an ajar door to her left. Stepping her toes to squash into the thick carpet. It feels like an almost pure grey wool carpet underfoot. Softer than cashmere. Opening the door further, she walked it inwards, listening how it brushed the thick carpet.

 

She peeks in and realises this was his office. His study. She saw the big sparse place from crawling her car up the drive.

 

This felt oddly intimate. Intruding on his office like this. The place he worked. He was a private man. She felt like she was overstepping his boundaries merely by being in here. Especially when he wasn’t. But she couldn’t _stop_ herself. This was her irresistible Pandora’s box. And she’s just lifted the lid, and doomed the world to ruin.

 

Everything’s very clean lined and simply sparse. She sees two huge big drawing desks, pinned out with complex tracing paper drawings on them. His desk is neat and ordered. All pens and mechanical pencils in organised pots. Not so much as a rubber shaving spec out of place. A pristine white desk laden with a Mac, an air book and an iPad was sat snug in its leather case. His desk overlooked the sky filled drive and the tops of the sun basking trees. Letting him see the valley and neighbourhood beyond.

 

In the middle of the big airy room was a wide counter. Lights suspended on wire directly above. That surface too was pinned with plans and neat rolls of paper waiting to be used. To be designed on by his brilliant mind, and artful hands. To make his millions.

 

And judging by this amazing place, he was a man who brought home _millions_.

 

She peers over the paper plans. Just a squiggle of pencil lines and measurements, notes and numbers to her. But to him it was the keystone of his thriving successful business.

 

She smiles, looking to the shelf above his desk against the wall. Lots more architecture books lived there. She makes a mental note to pick one up after she’s made some dinner. Sit and read one as she eats. It was then her eye caught in something familiar. One of her old publishing house books sat atop one of the book piles. She steps closer and leans up on tiptoes, this office clearly designed to the spec of a man his height, and sees it was the collective of writers published inmate stories. The first volume. She runs a fingertip over the spine. Leaving it undisturbed where it was. But it made her smile that he might have read up on her works. Ironic that she did that before she met him.

 

Evie leaves his office with a smile and heads out in search of the kitchen. One wrong turn in this house. And she might end up wandering lost for weeks. She heads past the study, pulling the door shut after her.

 

She steps out and crosses past the snug area to the long narrow of the dining table. Warm tiled floor underfoot letting her know he had that state of the art underfloor heating.

 

She was in the dining area section of his open plan house now. It was long and big enough to seat thirty. Cosy looking leather chairs at regular intervals on the sturdy long grey wood table. Very Scandinavian. That too crowded with a fresh glass vase of white peonies perfuming on the lemon air of the place.

 

Above the table sleek light fittings drip from the ceiling on silver wires. She loves peonies. Oddly enough they were her favourite flower. She wondered if that was something he’d picked up on, or if it’s just a merry coincidence.

 

She comes to his spotless kitchen. Precise granite grey cabinets. No decoration topping the white stone surfaces. Save for a food mixer. Salt and pepper cellar. And a big glass bottle of sunflower yellow oil.

 

His kitchen was bigger and longer than the driveway up to her house. Echoing white tile and slate grey. Chic and elegant in the most sparse and masculine way.

 

She runs her hand along the front of the highly expensive 8 burner matte black Viking stove. It looks like it’s barely been used. She’d never twigged if Kylo is a good cook or not. She imagines a man as widely and worldly as himself would’ve picked up a few recipes here and abouts on his travels.

 

She brought a bag of groceries in the car over just in case he didn’t have much in. He was away. She wasn’t expecting him to provide for her. She heads for the ginormous fridge and yanks it open. She recoils when she sees its stocked with enough food to feed a party of twelve. All fresh and ready to be used. Vegetables, fruits, eggs, slabs of meat and fillets of fish.

 

“Bloody hell.” She curses with a smile. When she shuts it and turns around she can see an under counter wine fridge - _that_ was fully stocked too. Her smile grows wider.

 

She makes herself at home - so to speak. Starting with getting her things in from the car. And taking what she needed too upstairs. She gulped when she walks through into the bedroom.

 

It was all glass and airy. The bed was 8ft square, she sure. Made with pristine white sheets and a waffle grey blanket over the foot of it. Really it was just a giant mattress on a simple podium with a cloudy grey headboard. She puts her stuff down beside the empty bedside table.

 

The only other finishing in the room was a chic grey chesterfield chaise. With a wool blanket folded on the end of it. That decorates the corner. Sat on a big black rug. That and the bedside cabinets are the only other things in the room. She guesses the right side was his. Judging by the pair of Hugo boss reading glasses and a pair of silver cuff links discarded there.

 

She clutches every new-found thing she learned about him, close to her chest. Slipping off downstairs with a grumbling tummy, she sets about making herself some dinner. There’s fresh seafood that she’d be a _fool_ to let go to waste.

 

Lobster and scallop pasta. White wine and garlic sauce. And fresh basil leaves she bought with her. There was even some posh Italian bread she’d snag to go with it.

 

She hums as she cooks her dinner, deciding to eat on the marble stone white terrace off from the house, leading down onto the gorgeous garden view. Over the stretched rectangular turquoise pool.

 

She knew he’d most probably designed the house to make the most of the view there was on offer. It was a one of a kind view of the valley beyond. Surrounded by huge tall trees. Able to see the whole sprawl of city from up there. As well as the surrounding green of nature, forests and a great big vista of blue sky.

 

She squirrels away one of the architecture books from his office. And sits to eat her dinner on the sun drenched porch. Listening to the wind sway the trees. Pouring through the architecture book from his study. Admiring how he was the named Architect for _all_ the striking dark buildings she saw featured. A glimmer of pride in her heart for him.

 

She drank two glasses of Sauvignon blanc sat on the sunny terrace. Consumed by the book. She stayed out til the blue of evening started to ebb in. She cleared up after herself. Making sure everything was as spotless as she’d found it.

 

She turns her sights on his bathroom. She’s sure that was going to be a luxurious room too. In keeping with the rest of his home.

 

She makes her way upstairs. Loving how the honey glow of the house at night contrasts in sharp opposite to the blue night outdoors. Everything gleamed. Every surface shining. He truly did have a wonderfully decadent house.

 

She finds the bathroom - eventually. She did wander into his huge slate grey dressing room confusing it for the en-suite at first. But she backs out and quickly finds her bearings. The doorway just along the hall from his bedroom was the airy bathroom.

 

The bathroom was white and black. Huge tiles with a twin sink counter and huge round backlit mirror covered one wall. The shower is a square glass cube. Three shower-heads in it. It was huge. A shelf with toiletries on, was carved into the black tiled wall in an alcove. Where the roof slopes away, two velux windows frame the huge oval white freestanding tub. She liked how the white tiles beneath her feet were tepid warm. Keeping the house the perfect temperature.

 

She’s slightly wary that the end of the bathroom is nothing but a glass window. But all she can glimpse is the end of the room. It’s just a square copse of the trees in the wind. Obscuring the room from view - she hopes.

 

She crosses to the bath. Noting how it was far bigger than her one at home. This pool sized thing made her tub at home look no bigger than one of her Gran’s beloved antique teacups. She blinks at the sight of the row of Dior bath products lined up in chunky square bottles on the shelf. She idly wonders if he’d got those in for her.

 

It was like the peonies downstairs. The fully stocked fridge that he left even though he was out the country for the week. She couldn’t help wondering; did he pre plan for her coming? Or was it just her reading too much into tiny details. It’s not a question she needs answering. It’s just a passing fancy.

 

She throws caution to the wind and steals a tiny sloppy gloop of the j’adore bath bubbles. And sets the faucet pouring warm water into the tub. She gets her things from the bedroom and quickly strips off. Lighting the two Jo Malone candles he had on the side. Making the steamy air smell sugary like pomegranate noir. She grabs her bath book. A water warped Veronica Henry novel. She has another glass of wine. Scoops her hair on top of her head with a clip. And settles back in a cloud of hot Dior scented bubbles with her book.

 

Because honestly, how often was it a part time reporter writing at the tiniest gazette office in the whole state got a chance to luxuriate in foaming Dior bath bubbles, of an evening? The chances were slim, it had to be said.

 

She watched night break properly over the horizon from the velux windows. Sat in her bath with her cold dry wine. Watching the wind whip the trees outside the window. Amazed at how she couldn't even hear it. The thick glass slaughtered all noise.

 

She just watches the branches sway and crack out there in the seemingly soundless night. She feels calm. And oddly happy. Safe up in this big glass fort.

 

She pampers herself ready for bed. Clambering out all hot and pink. She indulges herself in some heavenly Dior silky body mousse that makes her skin feel like satin by the time she’s done rubbing it into her legs and arms.

 

Satisfied with the way she smells pleasingly of a Dior perfumers counter, she slips back to the bedroom with her things and her book. A slip of a baby pink nightie on. She starts in her night time ritual of brushing her hair and smearing some simple cheap moisturiser on her face.

 

She used the only dresser in his bedroom. A mirror mounted on the wall, almost taking up all of it. The only thing on the dresser top was a singular bottle of Ormonde Jayne cologne. She blinks at it. Unable to resist. She reaches for it, lifts up the gold stopper, and brings it under her nose. Her heart lurches for it;

 

_Kylo_.

 

Pepper. Citrus. Orange spices and musky cedar wood. Married together in perfectly balanced harmony.

 

She closes her eyes and she can see him stood in this mirror. Hating his reflection. Paying no attention to it. But patting this on his cheeks and neck. Rubbing a hand through his hair as he got ready in one of his million dollar suits. She puts a little from the stopper on the tip of her finger, and rubs it onto her wrist. She rubs it into her skin so the notes of it warm and come alive.

 

She replaces it to its home. Turning around for the bed. Before she gets a rather soppy idea. She unfolds the covers, but she doesn’t slide between them. Rather she skirts around the bed and heads for his dressing room. She switches on the lights and looks around at the full wall to wall room that houses his clothing.

 

She pads the thick carpet across to the shirt rack. It was plain to see he favoured the darker end of the colour spectrum. He had every dark colour under the sun. Her eye catches on a white one tucked behind some black ones. Just brushing her fingers over it lets her feel how soft the cotton is.

 

Decision made and damning her consequences. And slips her nightie off over her head. And takes the shirt off it’s mahogany hanger. And slips it on.

 

She gathers both sides before she buttons it up over her naked torso. She lifts it to her nose. It’s scented of Kylo. Lemons. Old cotton and cologne.

 

It’s devastatingly, _humiliatingly_ large on her tiny body. But she rolls the sleeves up. Mend and make do and all that. The bottom of the shirt tails brushes her knees. She almost puts it back when she sees the Alexander McQueen label. She persists.

 

She’s missing her big tall man as he was worlds away. The shirt helped her miss him that little bit less. Comforted by his scent being near.

 

She walks back to his bed. Folds up her discarded nightwear in her bag and gets comfy, slipping into his bed. Wedging herself between the cool sheets. Sinking into the butter soft mattress with a happy sigh. She sits up and remembers his growl - slipping her panties off to leave them stuffed under her pillow. Better safe than sorry.

 

She did wonder if he had meant for her to be in _his_ bed. He could've easily meant for to be in one of the three spare rooms down the hall.

 

She waves the thought off in carefree joviality as she switches the light off and scoots down in the bed. White moonlight washing the room silver. The trees outside still bending to the will of the harsh wind.

 

And snuggles into Kylo’s pillow, that smells like warm cotton and cologne and lets sleep come. Despite her excitement to hear his footsteps tread the stairs when he gets home.

 

She’s almost dead to the world by the time that lovely domestic little thought takes hold.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

He punches in the key code and slips quickly into his house. Silent as a shadow. And he was head to toe in black too.

 

Boss jeans. Dolce Cashmere jumper. Shrouding pea coat. Dark Chelsea’s on his feet. He shut his front door behind him. Blocking out the cold windy night.

 

His house is dark and silent. But he was brimming over with energy over the thought that his bedroom wasn’t empty tonight. He was elated with the thought that his bed had a sleeping little writer tucked cozily between the sheets.

 

He doesn’t waste any time. He hot foots it to the kitchen. Grabs two bottles of Fiji water from his fridge. And makes straight for the bedroom. He bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and strides quick for his room.

 

He rounds the doorway and slows. His eyes drinking in the small body wrapped in his bedsheets. Fast asleep. Chest rising gentle and soft.

 

_And in his shirt._ _  
_

He stands down his bag by the door. Puts the water on his dresser and lets his eyes roam over her.

 

Just being away from her, and from their incendiary sessions of brutal, bed breaking sex for a week, and he was tense. He was wound up. He was so full of energy that he needs to let some of it out before he feels like his head might just about explode. Veins straining. Blood pumping.

 

And she was in _his shirt._

 

That would be the first thing to _go_. “ _Sorry_ Kitten. Has to be done.” He rasps under his breath as he slips off his belt. _Not actually sorry at all._

 

He storms to the bed, grips the sheets and rips the covers off her. She snuffles a groan in her sleep. Where she was on her back. Her head shifts on the pillow and she whines. Blinking awake. Eyes bleary. Half asleep.

 

He was the _opposite_. He’s never been more awake, and ready. Harder than he ever thought possible. Straining up in his jeans. He’d had a semi ever since the wheels touched down on the tarmac. Just thinking of this moment

 

He braces one knee on the bed. Near her. Not paying any consideration to his very expensive McQueen shirt. He grabs both sides and tugs it open. Growing harder when buttons fly, scattering off and she’s jerked awake.

 

Her blurry eyes blink open to see a dark shape. And then there’s rough hands and she comes to to realise that a furious Kylo is above her. Hair hanging in his face. Still in his coat. Looking divinely preppy in his black cashmere jumper and jeans. His eyes were dark yet somehow on fire at the same time.

 

“Do you have any idea how fucking hard it made me. Knowing I’ve got you at home. Wrapped up, in my bed, just waiting to be _fucked_.” He growls.

 

Now the shirts off her. Exposing her naked front to his eyes. He’s been aching for those full teardrop tits. Pale coral nipples. And that _perfect_ heaven between her thighs. He can see her panting chest heave. Her ribs pressed up against her skin with the way she was posed.

 

He’ll die if he doesn’t get any part of her body in his mouth soon. Or if he doesn’t get his cock in her shortly.

 

He drags the tip of one index finger down the central line of her body. Throat, to sternum. Over her belly. Ending at her soft cleft. Watching his inked hand in dark contrast with her lily white skin.

 

He pulled her further down the bed by the hips. His grip stinging on her skin. Pinning her down to the mattress. Hands wrenched above her head. And then he’s wrapping the thick leather belt around her wrists to bind them. _Tight_.

 

She can see the _look_ in his eyes. The one that had been there the first night he came for her after prison. The very same look that told her she’s going to be destroyed with sex and pleasure. Wrung out beyond belief. It’s hot. And blistering. It scorched her skin and makes her shiver.

 

It had scared her then. And now it turns her on. She can feel her thighs getting wet and sticky already.

 

He sneers down at her as he grips her throat. She gasps. Hair strewn and messy in her eyes. Mouth gapes. He leans in, hand still on her and presses an animalistic kiss into that pretty mouth. All sucking tongue and clashing teeth. He kissed hungrily tonight. It’s filthy and glorious. He massages his tongue into hers. She can taste a velvety red wine, and bursting cool heat of mint.

 

She whimpers when he breaks away to nose down her neck. Dirty. String of saliva joining their lips when he pulls back. She can smell his cologne on the air surrounding him. It punches her in the gut it feels so good to scent him once more. _The scent of her lover._

 

He noses into her neck. “ _Fuck_. You even smell like me. Why do I like that so much....” He growls. Clipping his pelvis into hers. Letting her getting a feel of the cock she will have surely missed. He fogs up her neck with his breath.

 

His free hand unkindly pinches a nipple. She writhes and the breath is pulled right out of her in a gut-punch of bliss and pain. He watches her moan in ecstasy. He twists harder. Her toes curl and she bucks into him. “Aghh-h. Kylo...” she whines in a broken mewl.

 

“You better be ready for one hell of a fuck. I’m not gonna be _kind_ tonight babe.” He tells her. Her worried blue eyes find his.

 

He demonstrates this by tearing off her, big hands slipping from her nipples. He comes to a stand and makes her watch. Prostrate and weak on the bed. Stretched like a pinned out kill being hauled in by a hunter. Pale. Lovely. _Gentle_.

 

He towers tall over the edge of the bed. Like a dark nightmare come to life. Or a sweet dream. His tatted hands go to his fly. He’s watching Evie with a leer as he undoes his flies. Her eyes don’t shift off him as he unzips himself from his jeans pushing them down his hips as his massive cock wags free.

 

Thick. Hot. Oozing precome. And rosy red. He stokes himself and she feels herself clench in wanting. Thighs clenching. Trying to rub together for friction. None comes.

 

He comes to the bed. Gripping the back of her hair. She twists her head, feeling the hard head of him smear sticky wet, hot, against her cheek. Not letting her get her lips around him. Denying her for fun.

 

Her face furrows. She stretched her tongue out to curl at him. She hits the underside. She just manages to stroke along a pulsing vein. _Man_ , and musk and salt on her tongue. He was right, judging by the taste of him he’s been hard and leaking precome for a while.

 

“I made you wait ten days, Kitten. How much _longer_ do you reckon you could wait to have this dick in you?” He teases.

 

“Not long at all.” She croaks. Pleading. _Begging_.

 

He chuckles, before he digs his hand in the back of her hair and lets himself slip into her hot little mouth. Kneeling at the edge near the head of the bed, he feeds her his cock. Eagerly watches his thigh length glide onto her pink tongue.

 

He pumps his hips slightly. Watches her sucks get bolder and bolder. Greedier. He relishes them as they do. He loves how she hums when he stuffs her throat full. Gagging her. Sloppy wet with spit and gurgling sounds. He pulls back, she gently relaxes her throat and opens wider.

 

“You really are a desperate little thing aren’t you? I’ve made you _needy_ for my cock being away so long.” He says. Gasping. Pleased. Smiling with how she lets him move his hips faster now.

 

Strings of spit and precome stringing from his underside to her chin. It truly was phenomenal how she took him so well. It made him speechless

 

He draws right back. Slipping out her mouth. A wet slurping pop following his retreat. He stands up, leaning over her, hooking two hands into her, he flips her over. Pressing her hands into the headboard. Before pushing her up on all fours and getting behind her. He slides his hands up over her plump ass. Shoving his shirt out the way.

 

He spreads her ass apart with two stroking thumbs before he pushes his face to nuzzle in at the pussy he’s been desperate for. Tongue jamming _deep_.

 

He hears how her nails claw down the fabric headboard. She moans. Spreading her legs as wide as she dares, hips seeking more. He slaps the back of her thigh with a sting when she moves too far. Disjointing him from where he’s sucking her labia into his hot mouth. She’s sure she’ll get plenty more swats at her ass before the night is out. He was in _that_ kind of mood, tonight.

 

Tongue now continually striking down the centre of her sex. Lapping deep into her pink tightness. Tasting her intimately. Flickering at her clit. His nose judging the pucker of her ass. He licks and sucks to make her scream. Each time she does. He sucks her down harder.

 

She was gorgeous on all fours. Skin soft like silk. His nose nudges her skin. Scented of Dior. And _pussy_. _Nothing_ _was_ _better than the taste of her_ _._ _  
_

 

He doesn’t make her cum like this. Though he’s more than aching to tongue her into a squirting orgasm. He doesn’t have the patience tonight.

 

He lines his cock up with her needy cunt, and drives home on one push. Growling as he seats his fat self fully inside her. His hands grip her hips. Bruising her skin. He couldn’t care less as he slams in to the warm heaven of her silk walls struggling to adjust to him.

 

That was a flattering power trip for him if ever there was one. He has to fuck her hard to loosen up in order for her tight little pussy merely to take him.

 

He shudders a moan. Fucking her desperately. Urgently.

 

Still fully clothed. He hadn’t taken off a thing - save for the belt. He was still wearing his boots. Their soles snagging on the covers as he thrusts.

 

“I thought that once I slammed into this pussy. I’d never wanna leave it. Fuck me. I was _so_ right about that. _Fuckkk_.”

 

He drawls. Rutting into her. Feeling himself start to sweat in his layers. He pushes up her shirt as he pounds, he paws a tit in his grip. Pinches her nipple again. Bounces her up the bed with each pound. She’s almost crumpled up now into headboard. Too pleasured even to moan. She can only gasp and stutter the letter his name starts with, mixed with gods.

 

Kylo likes that she still clings to God. Even when she’s being fucked by a devil like him.

 

“I’m much better than _him_.” He snarls. Referring to the almighty.

 

Going hell for leather. He knows he’s gonna fill her when he cums. He can _feel_ it. He’ll leave very little room. And he can feel how she’s so wet thick around him, swilling wetness, it wouldn’t be out of the question for her to gush tonight. He can hear their bodies slap and slurp together.

 

He starts to groan. Long, low sounds. Matching her short puffing breaths, and gasps. She’s writhing and he has to hold her down. He clamps his hand about her neck. Just enough to make her light headed.

 

“Kitten. You keep still. And cum. Or I’ll get more belts and tie you _down_.” He threatens. His orgasm bearing. He could feel hers coming in the way she clenches him.

 

They both whine together. Sweating. Cursing. He’s praising her.

 

“ _Oh fuck._ Evie. I fucking missed _you_. I fucking missed _this_. _Shit_.” He moans. Cumming all too fast.

 

He pours his all into her. And still he’s not done. He has to keep going. He pulls out and his mouth is slack as he rubs himself off to spend his still unending orgasm over the perfect pale curve of her ass. Watching his cum spurt across her skin.

 

So now she was dripping with a mix of him _and_ her. And she also had his cum spilling down off her ass too.

 

She’s sagged onto the sheets. On her front, trying to force some air into her dry painful lungs. Punched out by his fucking that she’s sure distended her vital organs out of place. Her head is swimming.

 

But she still feels when he presses down into her back. Designer jeans be damned. His mouth comes hot and low across her ear. He snarls dangerously. Smirking as he brushes a fingertip through her sticky hair.

 

“Five minutes. Then I flip you over. And we do that all _over again_. I’ll show you how _fully_ I’ve missed my kitten...”

_~_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have gotten to the point in my fanfiction career now where I am largely just entertaining myself. Case in point being this chapter. 
> 
> Morning after this will be cuter. Bare in mind that Kylo is a sociopath. We are getting there. But romance will be slow for him. Feelings on that front are complicated for these two. 
> 
> Anyone fed up of this yet? You still with me folks?


	27. Safe & Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this cute? Yeah I think it’s dangerously close to being described as fluffy, this bit (I loves it)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kylo didn’t let go of her _all night_.

 

A bed as wide and as massive as his. They had all the room in the world. He lets her have none of it. They are tangled as one in the middle of very stained, sex sweaty sheets.

 

The bedsheets clamp to them. Their both tacky and wringing with sweat. Skin stuck to each other’s, hearts pounding, pumping in sync. No sounds between them but heartbeats and gasps.

 

He’s behind her, now fully naked, his chest tight to her back. His nipple rings are poking hard in her spine. She’s half turned on her front, clutching into the pillow with both hands. The sheets pooled at their hips. His hands clamping her hips as he strokes her body. Only _just_ finished with her.

 

He’s just fucked her awake. Pumping into her as they were, letting his length piston deep in. Gliding along her walls with each long twisting stroke. Grinding his hips into her. Bringing them both powerfully to the painful overstimulated brink of yet another orgasm. He loves how her twitching cunt is all full up of him.

 

By now she’s too weakened to resist. She’s functioning on barely any sleep and overdosed on pleasure, and Kylo’s making thorough use of her body ever since he got home hours ago.

 

The sheets beneath them now are sopping wet. Soaked through with their spends. He loves how they’re going to _reek_ of sex. Of her sweet cunt. He wants to bask in it.

 

It’s nothing to him that he made her climax messily all over his three thousand dollar Sferra Italian cotton sheets. He’ll throw them away and buy more. _Gladly_. He’d cherish it with a smug grin. Knowing he’s having sex so good that it’s destroying his designer sheets is more than worth the worry over their hefty price tag. Not that he would worry. He could buy them ten times over and his bank balance wouldn’t even feel it.

 

She can feel her thighs stick to the wet spot that spanned the entire middle of the bed.

 

She’s utterly demolished by him. Her cunt is sore. Her lungs feel shredded dry with effort. A fuzzy cloud of exhaustion fogs up her brain and makes all her muscles sleepy and hazy. Refusing to respond to the plights of her brain.

 

Where he pants over her neck, she twists her head to look around at him. She can smell her most _intimate_ scent on his breath. From where he had her spread eagled out earlier. Eating her alive until she passed out for a long few moments. She brings her hand round and sleepily caresses his bicep and up his shoulder, as it curves over her.

 

He joins their mouths together. Panting. Hearts clashing time. Sweaty hot and sticking together. Is there any bliss on earth greater than this? Being fucked awake before the suns even warming up in the sky yet. A blue dawn still washing the bedroom in it’s cool kiss. The bursting peach and yellow-orange sunrise just began to peek over the trees in the distance beyond.

 

He leaves himself speared deep inside her. Stretching her open. Feeling how her pussy by now is entirely his own hot, sloppy mess to fuck into. He rams his chest into her back, and lets his mouth move over her sweaty neck.

 

She lies prostrate in his grasp. Heaving for breath along with him. Eyes closed at the wet pleasure of his mouth on her. She slides her wandering hand to play with his damp raven tresses. Sighing blissfully. Feeling his cock throb inside her. She’s so full of him in _every_ sense. She can even feel his pulse echoing out from how he’s deep in her spent pussy. She can feel how obscene it is to have his cum still trickling out.

 

His hands dig under the thin crumpled white sheets. Grappling her thighs. Big fingers sinking into her bitten bruised skin. He’s certain he’s made red welts raise on her wrists where his belt was binding her. He takes a drag of her skin. Smiling with how she reeked of sex, sweat and Dior.

 

That white sharp smile of his rests against her shoulder. He loves how she smells sexy and _expensive_. He loves her perfume. He adores it. But he secretly cherished that she’s reeking of _Dior_ and _him_. It makes him want to have her dripping in Cartier, and her skin stained with a furiously expensive perfume that drifts off her like smoke.

 

He wants to _lavish_ her head to toe in money.

 

He brings the back of one sore wrist to his mouth and sucks a sweet kiss onto her skin. Hooking her hand back over his body again, she strokes his shoulder as he palms one of her tits in one big hand. He sighs in pleasure. Humming more kisses onto her sore skin. Sucking over the darkly blossoming love bites he’s made sit there.

 

Evie manages to summon her head enough to speak. Loving how she was back in his arms. She’s been ecstatic with every draining, pleasure filled second of him. She never wants to leave this safe harbour. His chest. His arms around her. Tucked under sheets with him. Naked and lazy.

 

“I never got to ask...” She begins in a barbed yet happy comment. He chuckled. He hadn’t given her any choice but to lie there, tied up, and take him.

 

“How was your trip?” She seeks sweetly. He loves how her voice is hoarse. She’s softly stroking his hair. Still facing away from him. Both of their heads battling for space on the same pillow.

 

He nuzzles into the back of her sweaty hairline. He feels her sweat there coat his lips.

 

“My trip was very propagative.” He mumbles happily. “It was nice to travel again. I missed the climate in Switzerland.” He rumbles lowly. “I always did like travelling to the colder countries.”

 

“Must’ve been nice.” Evie supplements. She’s never been anywhere in her life. One very foggy distant memory of a trip to England to see a doddery elderly great aunt in her barn conversion in Devon as a child. Perched right up on the jagged rocky coast. Evie has a memory of eating her first berry scone with cream and jam. Oddly it’s a random fond memory seared in her brain.

 

She’ll never forget the vivid poppy red of her mothers soft wool coat as she walked along with her on the miserable grey soggy Devonshire beach. Holding her hand. The sand, the sea, and the sky one long mash of drab chowder grey. The waves churning, spitting and feasting on the wet sandy shore. Evie can remember fondling smooth pebbles and brittle shells. The feel of gritty sand in her palm as she shoved them in her pockets. An avid beach comber. She still has some broken shards of shells in a jar on the mantel in her living room.

 

“Ever been to a Nordic country, Kitten?” He asks her. Hand covering her entire hip under the warm snug of the covers. He shuffles his head into his pillow and lets his eyes drift over her. Determined to take in the sight of her naked til he falls asleep once again.

 

“The furthest across the globe I’ve ever been, is to England.” She explains softly. Loving how he kept her hips rammed back into the curve of his pelvis. He was still hard, and _inside_ her. A steely hard length meeting her soft core.

 

“Snowy climates are breathtaking to see Kitten.” He tells. “When I next have to go and meet Dominick. You can come with me, if you want, and see it for yourself.” He mumbles sleepily.

 

She turns around to peek back at him, her mouth gaping in a smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your business trip.”

 

“Alright then. What if I want your sweet pussy and your gorgeous body there in my very expensive hotel bed at night to help keep my cock warm?” He growls. Peeling one eye open smirking across at her.

 

She blushes. He was still hard inside of her. And they’re lying in a drying puddle of their wet orgasms tacky on the mattress below. And _still she blushes_.

 

“Well. I won’t argue with that motive that two is better than one for sharing body heat.” She smiles giddily.

 

“Especially with the naked part.” She adds. Tucking the covers up over her breasts where she was starting to cool down. One hand tucking under her side of the pillow. Under her face.

 

“By the way. In case I forgot to mention it. Your home is lovely.” She coos softly.

 

He smirks. “Glad it pleases you Kitten.” He remarks sleepily. She senses a hint of something in his tone. He clarifies for her.

 

“This place is old and dated now. Gonna move on from here soon. Find another plot and build something better. Something newer.” He tells.

 

“Why is that?” Evie asks curiously. Kylo’s eyes are shut but he can picture clearly the cute little frown that now sat on her face.

 

For a terrifying moment she thinks he might not answer her. For a few seconds he doesn’t.

 

“This place has.... too much, attached to it.” He answers grimly.

 

She can understand that. The past four years can’t just be stomped out for him. They must stuck sore on his mind. Breaking a pattern like a prison routine wouldn’t be easy. Like the awful memories they were. He was wanting to banish them and she empathises with that entirely. She never know what it’s like to have to survive in a place as horrid as that. She never can know. She hasn’t been through it. But she’s try and help him along with it the best way she knew how.

 

Evie could sense it was like he wanted to scrub away a part of his history that makes him hurt still. Not out of pain. But out of anger and a sense of detachment. He wasn’t attached to this place. He won’t be attached to the next. He’ll design it. He’s be there to see it built. He’ll live in it. And wake up every morning to it. But it will just be another series of walls to him. Just a house. Never a home.

 

That’s as alien to her as he must think about her, and her sad emotional attachment to her tiny cottage. Her family home. Stuffed with heirlooms and things, and lost loved ones.

 

“Its just a house. Kitten. Time for somewhere new. Different. I’m bored of it here. Time to move on. I want a new view. New surroundings. New design.” He tells.

 

She nods. “I can empathise with the need for somewhere new. I don’t understand it. But that’s just me I suppose. Do you know I’ve lived in that cottage in the woods all my life. And I never even dreamed of being anywhere different. But some people grow, and change. And minds will tend to shift after a while.” She says.

 

“I’m not the person who built this house all those years ago, anymore.” He reveals. “I don’t feel the same.” He lets out harshly.

 

Prison had quite literally left its indelible, marring scar on him. Body and soul. He was already a cold man before they sent him down. Prison made him irreversibly worse. It toughened up his calcified heart, sharpened his anger let whetstone and left him meaner and crueler than the Killer they’d put in there four years prior.

 

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Evie surmises. “I don’t feel like I’ve ever changed a day in my life.”

 

It’s a serious tone their conversation is slipping into. But Kylo smirks in his rest. Bringing some levity back into their pillow talk.

 

“You don’t need to change Evie. You’re perfect the way you are.” He tells her sweetly. Deep voice a purring rumble like far off thunder. The fact of his being sleepy and tired made his voice croaky and sexy. Set goosebumps on her skin.

 

She blushes. Yet again. He can sense that she doesn’t believe him.

 

“You’re sweet. You’re kind. You say good morning to people when you pass them on the street. You help old ladies with heavy groceries cross the road. And you look like the type of person who has cartoon animals who help you get dressed in the morning.” He teases lightly.

 

She chuckles at that. He feels her chest and ribs bounce with her laugh.

 

“You’re so full of goodness, Evie.” He says seriously. “If I didn’t know it the instant we met. I damn sure know it now.” He explains.

 

“You looked like you wanted to _strangle_ me when we first met.” She points out. He palms a hip dirtily.

 

“ _Oh_ I did.” He says.

 

“But not in the way _you_ think.” He whispers huskily, flirting into her ear. Kissing a love bite there afterwards. His hand then comes up to trace a subtle grip over her neck.

 

“Only in the way that you like when I fuck you.” He mumbles lowly.

 

Evie snuggles back into him. She may have been burning up in her skin. But she wants near him. Wants to be cuddled up safe in the chest that would put most Bernini sculptures of Roman beauty to shame.

 

The sun starts to burn across the carpet now. Only just reaching the end of the bed. Orange sizzling and striking the twisted crumpled sheet at their toes. Staining the white sheets an ochre copper.

 

Evie’s heavy tired eyes blink open and blearily assesses how the light will make sleeping a much harder chore. Kylo seems to suddenly stir behind her.

 

She groans, pulsing in both pleasure and pain. When he kisses her neck as he pulls himself free from her with a sticky squish. She clenches as his thick cock leaves her. She feels yet more wetness seep from between her thighs, and onto the sheets under her pussy.

 

“I almost forgot about something...” He pipes up.

 

Her back feels sore and cold as he leaves her alone in bed. She falls onto her back and watches that big naked body walk away. His pale round ass bounced as he walked. She loves the way his tattoos ripple across his shoulder blades when he moves. In her opinion, it’s an oddly sexy part of a man. Shoulder blades cutting through a strong muscled back. And Kylo’s was the finest she’s ever seen.

 

He crouched for his travel bag. And roots around in it. When he stands and comes back to the bed, overstepping his crumpled black pile of coat, shoes and clothes. Evie can see there’s a wide, flat velvet black box in his hand. His big hand spans under it as he carries it back to the bed and takes a seat beside her. She tries to look at the box, and not the way his half hard cock wags big between his legs as he comes back.

 

She sits up, pushing herself up to brace against the headboard. Bringing the sheets with her as she did. Concealing her body. She furrows an adorable little frown up at him.

 

He folds himself up on the bed. Near her feet, places the box on her flat thighs, and lifts the lid.

 

She gapes her mouth open across at him. Set in the box engraved with a posh silver HW logo. There sits a pendant necklace. Dripping with one tear shaped pavé diamond. Rounded stones also sit on the chain.

 

“2.24 carats.” He explains as if it was nothing. Meanwhile, she’s afraid to touch it. “Set in platinum. Rondelle chain. Nine diamonds all in all.” He explains.

 

“Is this-“ she’s stunned. “This, is...for _me?”_ She squeaks.

 

Kylo’s smirks. “Well. I don’t think _I_ could pull off a pear shape.” He teases.

 

“ _Yes_. Baby, it’s meant for you-“ he tilts his head at her. “Do you not like it?” He seeks.

 

She’s still speechless. “No, oh my god Kylo _it’s_...” She’s stunned. She sighs and dares reach out to touch it. “It’s phenomenally beautiful.” She tells him.

 

He plucks it from his box with his big brute fingers. The silver weighing cool and flawless in his hands. He unlatched the clasp and reaches around to secure it around her gorgeous neck.

 

Kylo’s rather got a thing for and about her neck. It’s so elegant, such a frail part of her. If she wears her hair up, he finds he wants simply just to stare at it. Touch it. Skim it with his fingers and make her shiver. Feel the goosebumps rise as he turns her on. Feel her scream when he bites with teeth and soothes with tongue. Leaving beautiful blossoming dark bruises.

 

He watches it settle down, sparkling and fracturing the sunrise off the main diamond. Splintering drips of light all across her pale chest. She touches the main big, fat cluster of a pear shaped diamond that sits just below her collarbone.

 

“You shouldn’t have. Kylo. This is too-.” She says with what he can only describe as blue doe eyes. Kylo’s eyes turn as he drags a finger up the fine chain. He kisses her quickly, harshly, to shut her up. He moans as he tastes her lips and moans louder when he pulls away.

 

“Little sparkly and expensive thing for my Kitten. Now I’ve got something shiny to look at and watch bounce when you _ride me_.” He smiles. Smirking at her like the cunning devil he was.

 

He lays on his side and folds her into his front. Halfway up the bed is blazing in sunlight now. Kylo throws the box away and drags her into him again. They kiss like two hungry, desperately horny teenagers. As if they hadn’t been fucking each other all night.

 

“It’s beautiful.” She says to him with pink cheeks. Pulling away she cups his jaw in her hands.

 

His thumb swipes over the big diamond. “It’s not even _half_ as beautiful as person whose neck it’s around.” He explains before he kisses her again. She kisses him with glad intensity.

 

Kylo smirks. Switzerland was great. It surpassed his wildest dreams. But,  _It was good to be home._ _  
_

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmu my pretties. (You don’t have too) but if you do, gimme your thots, and hopes and dreams if you like
> 
> And Thankyou bucketfuls for continuing to be bloody amazing and appreciative readers


	28. Other Half’s & Clandestine Liaisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a bad penny...  
> Bake Sale clandestine Ben is not nice boi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kitten never ran out of ways to surprise him.

She’s been oddly uncommunicative all day. Usually a text passed between them both at some point in their separate work days. But today was her day off, and he’s not heard a thing.

It ate away at him.

Not to say he was worried. But he had found himself reaching to look at his phone more times than was usual. Every time he saw it empty of notifications, he had to try and let his worries slip away quietly. He was Kylo Ren. He never worried. It was a waste of energy. This dependency farce was really a niggling little annoyance.

He wasn’t paying any mind to the fact that he found he broke several speed limits getting to her place tonight. He grumpily pushes it out his head as he sped through the woods, bound homeward. Her cosy place came into view and his ugly rotten, paranoid instincts relaxed their grip on him. As did he unclench his death grip on the Aston’s steering wheel.

He parks up and hauls his things inside. It was a still, cool evening. Not a breath of wind ruffled his clothes as he unlatched her front gate and strides through her neat lush green garden. He could smell the hyacinths she loves tending too so much. Always had vases of them dotted around the house. He steps up onto the porch, which creaks when he presses his weight on it. He’s up and outside the front door. He doesn’t stand on ceremony. He never does. He opens the door and walks right on in.

He’d barely got his feet past the doormat when a wave of heat and sweetness hits him. The smell was as heavenly and as domestic as it could get. Sugar. Peaches. Floury sticky pastry.

He inhales it and smiles. Smirking and stepping further in to look around her kitchen doorway. And _there_ his simply sweet kitten was.

Up to her elbows in skinning peaches. Their sweet juices slippery wet on her hands. A mountain of them beside her still to do. Her hair was messily knotted atop her head. Some curls springing down where she’s been working diligently. He supposed she’s been at this for a while. Cause there isn’t a spare inch of surface in her cosy kitchen that isn’t covered by pies or cakes.

Something old and jazzy was playing through the radio. She’s so concentrated on her task, she does a double take when she peers up at him. Her face breaking out into a smile when she does catch sight of him in her kitchen doorway.

He stares for a moment - just drinking in this sight. She’s all rosy cheeked from the heat. In that blue flowery apron that’s smeared in flour. She’s in a simple white shirt and dark leggings - dusted with flour. Yet she’s never looked more alluring to him. Especially with the collar of silver pendant she proudly displays around her neck.

The air is cloying saccharine. It smells sweet, hot, like juicy ripe fruit being baked. He hoped she never ran out of her traditionally unique ways of making him speechless with surprise.

Cause right now she looked like such a domestic little angel, it’s making him stuck to the spot. Just drinking in the sight.

Irresistible. Sweet. Innocent. He wants to take her upstairs and corrupt the very goodness right out her entirely too lovely, charitable heart.

“If you dare tell me all this is for a church bake sale, Kitten. I’m going to have to put you over my shoulder, and take you upstairs this second, and _fuck_ the living hell right outta you.” He drawls as he chucks his jacket onto the dining table and comes close.

How was it the six foot, dark and dom ex-con had found the most goody-two-shoes, sweet and kindly homebody in the whole country to become obsessed with? He smiles. Shaking his head slightly in sheer disbelief of it all.

Could she get any damn nicer? The only was she could was if she wore a little silver crucifix pendant on her neck and went to church every Sunday. That might just about drive him completely _insane_ for her. Driving his innocence kink to boil up, stirring his blood knowing how he was the one contaminating the goody virginal little church goer.

She holds her hands aloft, he can see the peach juice sheeting wet off her arms and hands in the sunlight. Her brow was dewy too. She wipes her brow with the back of her wrist. Her cheeks pink more at his dirty wish.

“Bake Sale fundraiser for the library, actually. How will that do?” She asks. Keeping her sticky wet hands off his expensive shirt, she reaches on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

His cologne starts ebbing through the smell of her baking that sat thick on the air when he gets closer. She could scent the warm cotton of his shirt mixed with the pure tones of his musky skin. Scenting also the shampoo he used on that silky soft mane of black tresses. Vetiver. Mint and cinnamon. She loved how those dark waves shone beautifully in sunlight from the window opposite.

“Hmm.” He grumbles in contemplation as she kisses him. His big paw sneaks around and fondles her ass. He eyes around the innumerable cakes sat surrounding them.

“How long have you been _at_ this?” He asks.

“Since 6 this morning.” She answers tiredly. Wiping her hands on a nearby cloth.

“Haven’t got many left now. Just a couple of peach pies. I promised the Reverend no less than thirteen pies. Eight cakes. And two gigantic platters of cookies.” She explains.

Kylo eyes up the mountain of peaches sat in a bowl on her counter. Everywhere was dusted with spots of flour. Trimmings of pastry streaked here and there too. The cookies were on the cooling racks opposite. He’d have to snag one later. He had a secret unashamed sweet tooth. and if the cookies she’d made was anything like the brownies she baked the other week on their picnic, he’s definitely going to indulge in sneaking one.

She tries to turn away and soldier on. But her big bad influence was here now. He demanded attention, and kisses. And was shortly going to whisk her away and do many naughty things to her.

He hooks a finger in her apron front, and brings her back. It strains at her neck and waist as he pulls. Cups a hand to her hip and reels her in for a _proper_ kiss. She wants to whine that she’s getting flour on his expensive grey shirt. But he won’t have it. He cups her neck and keeps her snug to his body. Uncaring for protest. Kissing her like it was the one thing from keeping him going _crazy_ \- some days it really felt like it.

She tastes delicious. As ever. Jasmine tea and sugary peaches on her lips.

Kylo is the one to pull away first. Breaking away from the body melting kiss he’s giving her. One hand drifts to the dip of her lower back. Still keeping her close. His thumb swipes over her jaw.

“I think, you need to get a glass of wine, and come have a break with me. Screw the cooking. We can get takeout later. For now. _I_ want you. Or else...” he warns.

She smiles. She did feel tired. And her feet _do_ hurt from being on them most of the day. She sat down to a cup of tea earlier. But save for that she’s been kneading, or peeling. Chopping or mixing. And time had quite flown her by, busy in her goodly chores for the fundraiser.

“What’s the ‘ _Or else?’_ If I dare ask?” She seeks timidly.

Kylo grabs her hand and puts two of her fingers on his tongue. Sucking away the taste of peaches.

“I keep using my tongue on you, in _various_ places. Til you say yes.” He says wickedly. With a smirk and lift of his brow.

She admits defeat. “I’ll get some glasses. I guess the peach pies can wait.” She says softly. Slipping away to wash her hands. He pinches her ass as she goes.

“Damn right they can. Kitten.” He purrs, snacking, nibbling on her neck as she tries to open a bottle. He was so very distracting. And needy for kisses. His hands groping her plump ass where they stood. She _wasn’t_ complaining.

As if she needed more incentive with the way he’s working at a respectable sized hickey on her neck. Making her skin flutter and her legs clench together where she was getting wet.

Two - big - glasses of white wine later, and they’re both horizontal on her living room sofa. Night is starting to creep in outside, she lit two scented candles on the middle low table. They’ve both kicked shoes off, and she’s laying on top of her big sinful man as he makes her toes curl with his skilful kisses.

The trees outside the windows in the night sky are still on the breathless air. The only noise that intrudes on the two of them is the slow hum of the golden oldies on the radio in the kitchen which blazed out the sultry notes of Peggy Lee’s Fever. The other noise is their heartbeats and gasps that try and melt in sync, as their lips meet and noisily smack together.

Kylo takes the lead, as ever, cupping her ass, hands sliding under her leggings. Tongue tangling with hers as he sits up and rolls her under him. Crushing her down to the couch with his big frame. Leaning up over her as he explores the body that he’s certain, by now, he knows almost better than his _own_.

The mole that sits between her breasts, on her sternum. The way her round little ass cups perfectly into the span of his hands. He loves to expect the taste of her pussy on his tongue. It _never_ disappoints. How he _loves_ to tug his teeth on her coral nipples and smile as they peak harder. Cresting in arousal. She gets absolutely wrecked with pain and pleasure whenever he does that to her.

Her fingers tangle in his hair as he makes a bruised artwork out of her neck. Plush lips savouring how she moans under their caress. Teeth too. Snagging on delicate skin and making her arch up into him. His hands abandon her ass to now slip under the waistband of her leggings at the front. Toying with her panties, stroking over her pussy.

She gets her own back. She unbuttons his shirt with one hand and sneaks her hand down his torso to play with one of his nipple rings. Edging at it with a tentative fingertip and tugging it lightly.

 

He almost bites _through_ her lip when he feels her do it. A low growl rumbling in his throat.

“ _Minx_.” He mouths onto her neck in a smirking snarl. Pumping his hips to rut into hers. He bites her skin harshly as he snarls. Baring his teeth. Her head falls back in bliss to the couch arm. Her fingers grappled in his crisp silver-grey shirt at his shoulders.

His hair is black silk feathering against her cheek. His body is rock hard above her. But where she grapples it, fists in him shirt, it exposes a soft skinned tatted shoulder that she buries her face into and groans. Feeling his hot, damn near blistering skin, burn her lips as he nibbles her collarbone. Tonguing playfully around his necklace tucked under her t-shirt. He sucks at the skin around the big flawless pear shaped diamond. Leaving teeth indents. Especially where her cleavage is pushed high up in her bra. He mouths at he tops of those pale globes too. Stabbing sharp teeth down into the soft things.

He loves seeing this necklace on her. It puffs his chest up in pride when he sees it on. She rarely took it off. He loves that fact. She really did cherish every little thing.

It was in the ways he just _knew_ he was on her mind.

One night she asks him what his favourite dish for dinner is, the next night he comes over, she plates that very thing up for him.

She sends him off to work with a belly-full of a home cooked breakfast each morning he stays at hers - she even does that when they’re at his place, too. She always makes sure to take them both coffee if wakes up before him on weekends. She irons his shirt and sees to it he always has a clean one hung up ready for tomorrow.

It’s little things. Usually he got a laundry service. Yet she washes his fine dress shirts and makes his rich Ormonde Jayne scent turn into her own washing powder of warm honeysuckle and vanilla. He doesn’t know how she does it, but she makes them softer - he doesn’t mind it. He finds that he actually grows to rather prefer it.

He loves when he’s at work, and he’s surrounded, all day, by a warm cloud of the scent of Evie’s Home. Of lilac, honeysuckle and vanilla cresting on the air around him off his freshly ironed shirt.

But Kylo has never had someone to look after him. Or to take care of the little things before - save for relying on himself. It’s astounding. It’s...dare he say it, it’s _nice_.

He was used to the the vile abusive shit that was his mother and father together. He grew accustomed to his lifestyle of cheap quick partners and easy fleeting sex. He even found when he was sent to Prison that he could wear his tough outer armour and be alright. He could survive it. Because he’s survived worse abuse and beatings, verbal and physical, that fucked him up for his entire life. With Evie now, he’s almost expecting it to be hard. But it isn’t. It’s the simplest thing he’s ever done. And he doesn’t trust it.

Doesn’t trust in anything, but _her_.

It’s a welcome change. And in the past he was a man who relinquished his iron fist on changes in his life about as much as the heavens were likely to relinquish their hold on the stars. With Evie? It’s insultingly easy to slacken his paranoid grasp on everything, a little.

He lets her plain and simple sweetness sink into the pit where his heart should be. Feels it tarnish away at his rotten self. He likes the feeling. He wants more of it. He _just_ needs her. She’s making him _need_.

 

_She’s making a Sociopath, need. That was such a power and she doesn’t even know it._

 

The worst part was, in all his fearless glory, he starts to _like that._

It’s astounding. But there was no changing it now. Kylo Ren was growing infatuated with his shy writer.

Now he nuzzles into her neck and remarks how sweet every part of her is. Especially as his fingertips coax her open inside her leggings. Feeling how her slick drips hot, thick like honey, over his fingertips. Sweeter than sugar too. He pulls back, slips his fingers on his tongue. Sucks her taste away and dives back in, hearing her groan as he did.

His wet digits plunging back into her made his hips grind deeper into her body. They’re writhing together in bliss. Full of too much wine and lust. Thoughts of her cooking slipping away.

Evie doesn’t want to part from him, not when he’s doing that nice clever thing with his fingers scissoring inside her. Dragging so big and thick along her walls. Lighting every nerve to sing in pleasure. She’s clutching onto him as if she’ll fall off the face of the earth if she doesn’t. Giddy off their naughty make out session.

She hears her phone chime from the other room.

She lies back, sighs, and groans Kylo’s name. She digs a hand in his mane of dark hair. He doesn’t let up, humping his hips into her still, breathlessly groaning as he resumes sucking on her throat.

“No way in fucking _hell_ I’m letting you up...” he groans in distaste. His thumb swiping now over her clit.

“I’ll be very quick. And it’ll be Reverend Wilson telling me where to set up the stall for the sale tomorrow...” She tries to urge. She clutched at his partially undone shirt and tugs his neck close to kiss him. He’s too moody to let it sway him.

“Then you can have me _right_ back...” she bargains.

He glares in that stony dark, turned on way of his. Cheeks flushed. Plush lips kissed wild pink. Reddened from her lips and skin. He lets his hand slip out and she hates how cold she feels without the heat of him in her.

“Tick, tock. Kitten. You have precisely a minute until I’m in there and taking you wherever you _stand_.” He warns.

She’d learned Kylo _never_ kids. About anything especially not when it comes to pleasuring her. She’d been a minute too long on the phone the other day, and he’d come in and bent her over her desk and fucked her within sixty seconds of her being overdue to go and hop in the shower with him.

She skips away. Not before ducking to kiss at his gorgeous cheek. His smirk lifts up a little on one side at that.

She trots quickly to her phone. Finding it a little speckled in flour from her earlier cooking endeavours.

She swallows. Heart clouding over in cold panic when she sees what sits on the screen. She reads it quick. Before she shoves her phone away and hot foots it back to Kylo.

“ _Heard from a little bird about the bake sale in a small town tomorrow. Hope you don’t mind my dropping in, Kitten? I’m eager for a_ _t_ _aste of your_ _sweet cream pie.”_

Ben.

_~_

 

 

Her little town came merrily alive for the summer bake sale. The town square teeming with bustling people. It had really turned into a proper summer fête. Making the most of the dying days of a hot summer before a brisk Autumn changes its tune.

 

Big oak trees glimmered emerald green, proud and tall in the sunshine. A local band if students are playing something indie from the little town gazebo. The Reverend was parked near the mic, making announcements for the whole town to hear. Families and familiar town faces all crowd around the closed off square to celebrate.

There was a hot dog stand, lemonade stall, a cotton candy one, a couple of street-performers. Face painting. A silly little puppet theatre for kids. Many local businesses set up shop on a table to display their goods. The deli, the bakery, the coffee shop. Even Lou from the Greasy old Diner had a burger stand on the go. Kids played raucously in the sun. Families who were dear to each other took in the sunny day with great enthusiasm. What was better than a wander through a beloved town proudly displaying itself at its jovial best?

One stall that gleamed most proud in the sun, was the bake sale stall, raising funds to fix the leaky library roof. And get in some good donations to keep the stock of reading decent, and up to date. Mostly that meant people just donated them their old airplane books. If she never saw another copy of the Da Vinci Code, Evie would die happy.

There’s two long rectangular tables of the bake sale. With a banner above reading ‘Save our books’ Evie was diligently campaigning. Handing out leaflets like crazy, and she’s even bribed Daisy to help - with a stick of cotton candy - to pass out more as she went around. With her big doe eyes and cute smile, hopefully they’d raise enough to help save the library by dinner time tonight.

Evie’s has wings on her heels all morning. Flitting back and forth down the stall. Serving friends and strangers.

Even serving one familiar big dark customer in particular.

Dressed down beautifully in a tight grey Henley tee and black jeans, matched with dark boots. Showcasing the tattoos where his sleeves are pushed up. She damns convention. The whole town knew they were an item by now. She leans over the table and kisses Kylo quickly on the lips when he turns up and asks for a slice of pecan pie. He thanks her with a darkly hot smirk. And shoves a huge wad of money in the donation tin slot.

Evie’s mouth gapes. She’s damn certain that had been Benjamin Franklin on that thick wedge of notes. She is astounded to think what money he’s just shelled out for a slice of pie, and a kiss.

She bites her lip. “Kylo. That’s _very_ generous. Are you sure?” He shoves in close to another thousand, and kisses her again. Butter pecan and brown sugar on his lips.

“ _Very_ sure.” He answers. His dark eyes on fire for her.

“Awfully expensive for a slice of pecan pie and a kiss.” She teases lightly. Putting the tin back safe on the side. And covering the pie over again

“Well. I get access to _far_ more priceless goods later. _”_ He smirks. Evie knows she blushes.

Kylo watches her smile as she steps down to quickly serve someone else. An old granny who looked very nervous approaching the stall with Kylo there in all his dark six foot-three glory. She looked at the big strong man as if he were stood there like Cerberus, guarding the gates of Hell.

Evie obviously knows her. She chats for a minute as she hands over two slices of peach pie. Kylo watches his Kitten. Unawares of how he’s admiring her. She’d tied her hair up today. It’s toffee rust tones catch the sunlight where it’s sleekly scooped up off her face. Her make up had worn through a bit now. Still dark lashes and blush on her cheeks. He could see the slightest hint of grey bags under her eyes that he caused last night by loving on her thoroughly. Giving her a pleasure filled midsummer night.

She’s dressed today in a gorgeous mustard yellow ruffled dress. Speckled with white flowers. It’s wrap around, trimmed with white lace to the neck, and the skirts and sleeves blow in the breeze as she serves the old biddy.

She totters off with her slices of pie and Evie is all his once again. She’d been here since early this morning setting up. They’d showered together. Then Kylo had called into the office for an hour, then afterwards came right here. They’d had a brisk quick breakfast and coffee this morning. Both rushing off to do other things.

He’d passed the Diners burger stand, the smell making his stomach growl and he wants to treat her to lunch, and a cup of home made lemonade. She’d been out in the sun all day, and now despite her sparky attitude, she looks like she’s starting to lag a little.

“Can my hardworking librarian take her ten?” Kylo asks suavely. Chewing the last of the pecan pie down. Sucking the syrup off his thumb. She looks up at him with an expression of welcome relief.

“Gladly.” Then she turns to one of the old ladies down the other end of the stall, helping her. Esther from the gazette was her handy helper for the day. She was a happily settled spinster, with five moggy cats. She wire turquoise cats eye glasses and had a tick of constantly pushing them up her aquiline nose. She always cardigan buttoned to the neck, even in this heat. She was a little reticent, but ultimately kind-hearted and as soft as a wet blanket.

“Esther. I’m just taking a break, would you mind watching the donations tin whilst I’m gone?” Evie smiles to her. She bobbles a nod and a smile. Adjusting the bridge of her glasses behind her thick P.D James paperback. Nervously glancing up at Kylo. She peeps out a curious. “Have fun.”

“Nice to see you again, Esther.” Kylo charms across to the old woman. She smiles and gets all flustered. Waving, before she refocuses on her paperback. Kylo met her one night when he swung by the office to pick Evie up after work.

Evie rounds the stall and gently waved goodbye to her colleague. She slips her hand into Kylo’s waiting palm in a way that felt almost entirely too natural.

This was one of the things Kylo’s also growing to like about her. Her sheer wholesomeness. She doesn’t shrink away from him in public. She clutches onto his hand and holds on proudly when they walk in step together.

She’s not ashamed to be seen holding an ex-cons hand. She doesn’t see his scars and tattoos as brands of his brutality. She sees them as inky artworks. And to her, each scar is part of his tragically sad story. It took a lot of abhorrent, unimaginable abuse to endure to make someone into a sociopath: Evie had studied about sociopathy for her assigned reading before she first went to interview him in Prison. She can’t even imagine what kind of harsh family life had led him to be like he was now. She wants to strike away every harsh memory he has. Make him see how highly she thinks of him.

And all she wants to do is be proud of him and his successes. He was CEO of a globally famous business at thirty. That was amazing. He’s well traveled. Charming - when the mood takes him. And he could cook the best confit duck she’s ever had. She doesn’t want to be stuck looking to his violent past. She wants simply just to love him. She parades him around full of pride, as if he was as an eligible a catch to have on her arm, as the Prince of England.

They weave hand-in-hand through the crowds. The usual coven of nagging, old biddy gossips nattering after they passed by. Clucking about what Evie was doing dating a hulking thug like that. Making a loved up spectacle to the prude church obsessed bunch who scowled at their ‘brazen’display. So Kylo links an arm around her waist and makes it plain he couldn’t care _less_. Walking past and eyeing them smugly. As if he hadn’t a care in the world.

He leads her to the food stalls. Treats them both to a lemonade and a stacked cheeseburger from Lou’s. The town band now got funky with a saxophone, and a modern version of Lou Rawl’s ‘Nobody But Me.’ They cop a squat on a bench and eat their very good cheeseburgers. It’s messy and greasy. And they’re both sucking relish and cheese off their messy fingers before long. Sharing a big pack of fries. She’s certain her heart combusts when Kylo grips her chin and sucks a dribble of relish away from her lips. Turning the suck into a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

He can turn her on like crazy. Even when they’re just eating fast food. It’s crazy and amazing all at once.

Flo’s ever-large family stops by and says hello. More folk with her here, than had been at the movies. They all get introduced to Kylo in turn. Evie holds his hand and smiles him through it. She does slip away, only for a minute, holding Daisy’s hand, leading her to the cotton candy booth. She did have a promise to keep after all. She buys her the biggest blue cloud of sugar for her little friend, and even steals a little that Daisy offers her. Letting its sugary film melt on her tongue. She even accepts the paper flower-crown Daisy gives her from her own head.

There’s yellow sunflowers and blue daisies all over it. Evie crouches so Daisy can reach to can tie it around back of her head. The cotton candy stall was nearer the bake sale stall. Evie comes to a stand, clutching her little helpers hand. She goes to walk back and rescue Kylo from Flo’s taloned grip.

She’s just cutting across the square when her eye catches on something: Esther, and she was going apoplectic. Waving her over hurriedly with a inward wave of her hand.

Evie frowns. “Go straight on back to Gran, poppet. I just have to go.... _check_ on the stall.” She smiles at her friend. Patting her back as she skips away with her cotton candy.

By the time Evie gets to Esther, she feels like she should’ve brought a EMT paramedic with her. Or a tank of oxygen. Esther is holding the donation coin tin like it’s the Holy Grail.

“Esther?” Evie seeks. Rounding the stall and trying to calm her down. “What’s the matter?” She tries to soothe. Watching her colleague hyperventilate and stammer. Evie tried to touch her arm, ground her, calm her down as much as she’s able.

“ _Ok_...just be calm, for me. Be calm, and have a seat.” Evie encourages her Elderly companion. She brings a lawn chair close and helps her sink into it. Esther puts a hand to her chest and starts puffing on her inhaler.

Esther thrusts the money tin into Evie’s direction. It clangs and rattles with contents. Most people gave a handful of spare pennies. Or a couple of dollars. People gave and donated what they could spare. And Evie was grateful for every cent of it.

Esther seems calmer now. “Can you tell me what’s up?” Evie seeks gently. Crouching in front of Esther with the money tin in her hands.

“Someone...” She puts a hand on her chest. “Put upwards of, maybe, ten-thousand dollars in the tin.” Esther gets out. Fanning herself with a stall leaflet.

“ _What?_ ” Evie says loudly in shock.

“That’s enough money to fix the roof. _And_ buy new stock. And-and, maybe even add another whole section on the library. _Oh,_ maybe we could finally afford an updated kiddy’s corner!” Esther beams excitedly.

Her fingers scramble for the tin lid. And when she opens it, nothing meets her eyes out a nest of crinkly green spilling out the box. Hundreds and thousands worth of money, rolled up in paper clips. Sat smugly in the bottom of the tin. Dwarfing all the penny donations it rested on.

Evie takes a minute to speechlessly state at the money. “Who on earth in town could have donated _this_ much money?” She asks.

“Well. D’you know, that’s the real funny thing. He looked _just_ like your-“ Esther begins.

Someone clearing their throat behind the stall makes them both look up. Evie shoots to her feet. Her hands clammy on the metal tin when she sees whose stood opposite. A pie tin in his hands, eating the pastry and fruit with his bare hands. The very person she’s been dreading to see all afternoon. Looking devastatingly handsome in a white-navy plaid shirt and worn indigo jeans.

Ben.

“Kitten.” Ben leers at her. After sucking off his fingers. Esther turns to Evie with a look of shock.

Evie doesn’t know quite what to say to him. Or that nickname that she usually preferred being given to her by another man.

“Hello, Ben.” She manages to get out. She hasn’t seen him in person since his coffee visit the other day. When Kylo’s back was turned. She never told him about Ben’s particular brand of seductive wooing, and his gifts and visits. She told herself she was sparing him from Kylo gifting him a black eye in return. In truth keeping that secret from Kylo made her feel dirty. Wretched. She was tainted by the guilt of it.

She feels like she did something wrong. And all she’d done was let him seduce her. It still felt wrong. Past escapades of pleasurable threesomes put aside.

“I take it the rather _sizeable_ donation in here, is your doing?” She seeks.

He grins smugly.

“Of course it is, gorgeous. Anything for my girl.” He winks.

Evie takes a deep breath.

“Excuse us, Esther.” She says with a small curt smile. Handing her colleague the money tin. Ben stands down the nearly empty pie tin and, cheekily smiles at Esther as Evie rounds the stall to come face to face with him. Leading him away from prying ears.

Ben stands far closer to her than she would like. She opens her mouth to say something. But he cuts her off - as if to keep her from speaking. He toys with a coil of hair that swirled into her face. Other hand cupping her hip as he stands close. She can smell his cologne. She can feel his heat. It’s all an overwhelming blast of too much. Juniper. Cotton. And cologne. He’s a wall of muscle. Flirting. And that smug seductive smile. It’s drowning her.

And he’s _here_. That’s worse. She’d been looking out the corner of her eyes for him all day. She started to calm when she couldn’t spot him anywhere. And now he’s sprung up, like a bad penny. Like he said he would. She’s been crossing her fingers that he was flaky enough in his personality to forget his texted promise.

“What are you doing here, Ben? You know Kylo’s back.” She chides.

“Is He? _Huh_.” He shrugs off casually. Not taking his eyes off her. 

“Yes, he’s back. And he’s here. And you, need to _not_ be.” She tells him as harshly as she could. Pressing a hand to his chest and pushing them a little further apart. Air and space would do her all the good.

“Not that me and ever other book lover in town is not, _hugely_ , thankful for your generous donation. But I just want to make it clear that I hope you donated it for the right reasons.” Evie asks.

Ben tilts his head, and tips a filthy smirk at her.

“Not that you thought donating such a huge sum would _woo_ me senseless and help you get into my pants.” She adds.

“Well. I meant what I said in my text. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I didn’t want a taste of your sweet little _peach_.” He stands closer and starts husking in her ear. Leaning close as if to nibble at her neck.

“Great pie too. Who’d ever have thought my brother would land such a sexy homemaker...” He smarts.

He’s not hiding how envious he is of Kylo for snagging a woman like Evie. She probably had his dinner on the table each night. Ready as soon as he got in from work. Served him up pussy whenever he snapped his fingers at her. Probably fucked her all over. Christening every room in her cosy little house. With Evie a man was sure to come home to her, a hot cooked dinner, pudding. And then an extra helping of ‘dessert’ on the kitchen table.

Thing was, Kylo’s heart was about as penetrable as Fort Knox. Ben knew this. And he also knew Kylo was the type to shove his girls out the door the instant after they’ve both cum. He was just banging her for the fun of it for a while. He’s gonna drop her soon. And Ben would be the man right there to swoop her up when Kylo drops her.

He wants her. _Fuck, how he wants her._ Maybe a little bit to spike at his grouchy brother. And also because she’s the most stimulating, delightful fuck he’s had since Hux. Whatever it is, Ben can’t and won’t deny himself the attraction; the allure, the _need_ , to have her under him again. He needs it so bad he’s willing to throw his time, his energy, and, quite _literally_ , thousands of dollars at the problem.

And she’s still resisting? That won’t wash. Not today. His need for her is too strong.

She still looks nervous. “Ben please. I have to go find Kylo. Look. I’m very grateful for the money and everything else. But you need to _stop_ _this now_.” She urges.

She goes to sidestep him and walk away back to Kylo. She makes it about an inch. And then his hand is on her wrist. His huge fingers clamp her, his grip almost hurting her skin.

“Ben...” She whimpers. Panting for ragged breath. This wasn’t like the suave playboy she knew.

They’re near the edge of the square now. He hauls her behind him. Walking them both to the thick, secluded cover of an oak tree trunk. She’s pressed up against it, the scratchy bark rubbing at her back, and behind her knees.

His dense muscled thigh rams in-between her knees. Pushing up against her crotch. Rubbing her delicately covered cleft on the hard notches of the wrinkles on his jeans. He twists her fingers with his, and pins her arms back to the tree.

“Ben. Please don’t-“ Evie’s mouth gapes as he leans in and sinks his teeth into her neck. She barely stifles her cry. She can’t decide if it’s one of pleasure or pain as Ben hums. Sucking at her skin.

“Any idea what I’ve been going through, for wanting you?” He husks against her throat.

She’s almost trembling. They’re in public. He’s got her cornered. And she doesn’t like to even contemplate on the blood-bath that will ensue if Kylo catches them like this. Hers. Or Ben’s. She doesn’t know which he’s going to spill first.

He’s terrifying her; she’s unknowingly pushed the once genial smug Ben past his point of no return. His personality disorder was awake, and snarling its ugly head off.

“N-no.” She answers. Hating she’s caused him unease.

“I hate how _he_ got you so easy. I can’t stand it. He told me to stay away. But I don’t _fucking_ want too.” He rambles. He humps his pelvis into her and she buckled. The tree the only thing keeping her standing. Clutches to him with no escape.

She moans and he moans louder around his teeth sunk in her neck. Hearing her desperate plea’s.

“Feel what you do _huh?_ The power you have over me. How _hard_ you get me...” By now he’s rubbing his crotch into hers. She can feel the monster-hard girth of him grinding in teasing circles against her needy sex. She’s still scared of him in this state. He was near feral.

“Got me wanting to see that pretty cunt stuffed wide open with my big cock again.” He flirts.

She tries mumbling her refusal. But he just smirks and sinks his head down onto hers, so he can’t hear her. Biting her lip, sucking it into his greedy mouth. One arm leaves hers and slips between them, tearing under her flimsy panties, stroking down her shaved skin, slipping naturally into her pussy with a rough shove of two fingers.

He licks along her lower lip. She tastes like cotton candy. He’s _devouring_ her up.

“Best damn cunt on the planet.” He huffs into her ear. Rubbing his hips. And rubbing at her weak spots. She’s clawing at his shirt. She can’t tell if she’s pushing him away, or keeping him held close. _Both_ , probably.

She flutters her exquisite tightness around him. Sucking hot on his fingers. And that’s when he decides to twist the knife in the wound.

“Tell me, lie to me again, about how _no_ part of you wants me...” He teases. Sucking on her ear. Reddening her neck with sucking hickeys that Kylo can find on her later.

“Does every part of you want Kylo, babe? How dangerous he is, his tattoos, his brood. You like that? _Awww_. Does that get your pretty, proper little panties all dripping wet for him?” He mocks.

“It’s not _like_ that!” She protests. Tears spearing her eyes.

“I’m every bit as fucking dangerous as he is...” He growls. Ramming his fingers deeper. Swirling them. Listening to her wetness squelch down on his hand.

“Maybe If I hold a knife to your fucking throat, you’ll fall in _love_ with me.” He supposes. Before roughly grabbing her chin, arching over her and taking her mouth. Clashing teeth, soft lips. Cotton candy and peach pie melding together.

Evie opens her eyes, looking at him for the first time. Whining as he changes the angles of his fingers.

Ben chuckles into her ear. The penny drops.

“You fucking love _him_?” He asks. Slowing his fingers naughty tempo.

“He doesn’t have a heart babe. Neither of us do.” He finalises.

She’s not stupid; she is more than resigned to the tragic fact that she loves Kylo. And that love will never be returned to her. It’s a one way street. Loving a man like him. Ben seems to be lapping up her disappointment.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. I know it’s. Not-” She trails off. Sighing. “But. I just- I. I _do_.” She whispers. Almost sobbing it. That, and because Ben’s moving her swiftly to orgasm by finger fucking her like this.

“I love Kylo.” She says for the first time out loud. One tear falls from her eyes.

She supposed to people around them at the fair, it merely looks like they’re just making out against the tree. Entwined together. Clutched tight in the first pangs of young insatiable love.

At least. Evie is. But _not_ with the man in front of her. His dark alter ego had stormed in and taken away her soft pathetic heart.

“You do realise. It wasn’t just Kylo you enchanted. It was me too. And I did _such_ naughty bad things for your sake, Evie.” He kisses into her neck.

“I snuck into your blonde-shitbag colleague’s apartment and spiked his coke with sleeping pills. I pushed that no good ex of yours down three flights of stairs for you. All to keep you _safe_.” He growls.

She gasps. “Wwhat?” Her lip wobbles.

His idea of hot foreplay talk was making tears leak out her eyes. And he hates it. Cause she so close to cumming now. It’s almost unfair that he can do this. He’s getting her body to respond when all her mind wants to do is run.

“I’ve suffered for you. Now _you_ can suffer me. You say you’re in love with him. But whose fingers is your pussy drooling on right now. Cause it ain’t _his?_ Is it?” He chides.

She’s absolutely fit to burst. Damn him for learning her spots and weaknesses so well. She’s clutching onto him for dear life. When she really doesn’t want to be.

“ _Oh_ _h_ _hh_ yeah, baby...” He growls. Voice dipping sinfully low. “Gimme some of that cum I like.”

Evie’s clawing his back. He’s leaving hickeys for Kylo to discover. He’s fingering her so deep and hard. Where his hand smacks against her, it hurts. But then the pleasure crests to a searing hot peak. And she shatters over it. Cumming messily on his thick fingers as they stretched her. He feels it drip down the webs between his digits.

“Fuck. Yes. Evie. Come on babe. Soak my fucking hand like I know you can. Gimme every last drop. Give it all to _me_. _Just me.”_ He whispers filthily in her ear. Swirling his fingers, drawing out every bit of her cum he’s sourced. Collecting it on his scooping fingers.

He’s hollowed her out. Made her chest dry and brittle like kindling and dry leaves. Her eyes are full of tears and her head is foggy with pleasure, and revulsion.

He takes his body away from hers and she sags uselessly into the tree. She can’t look at him. It hurts too much. He’s just abused her into pleasure and she can’t process how she feels.

Ben goes to grip her chin and give her a filthy kiss. She turns her head away from him. Just as someone clears their throat behind them. A deep, rich baritone. They twist around, paused poised to kiss, to see Kylo stood not metres away. Beyond the tree. Arms loosely by his sides. Scowling at Ben.

Who does nothing more than smirk. Lean in to Evie. Take advantage of her powerless body and give her a filthy French kiss. Tongues and all. And he takes his sweet time. Breaking away, leaving his wet sloppy kiss coating her lips.

“Great pies sweetie. Thanks for letting me have a _taste_.” He flirts.

Before he steps away, walking backwards. Waggling a cute wave at Kylo. Winking. And sucking noisily on the fingers she’d cum all over.

Evie can’t look at him.

Her cheeks heat and her eyes blur with tears and shame. She wants to crumple away into dust and ruin. Tears drop freely down her face. Her pretty expression scrunched up in despair.

His dark eyes switch to Ben’s retreating back. Daggering his piercing look into his twin.

Kylo had heard, and seen _everything_. And now he’s so livid, his soul demands _blood_ as penance.

_And he’ll have it._

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me your thots and dreams


	29. Sweet Revenge & Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 👀👀 I hold my hand up and admit that I am a Violent Kylo Ren perv for this chapter. 
> 
> Gonna go wash out my filthy brain with wine now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing that makes writing this story so great? Every single one of youse guy’s comments. Truly. Heart meltingly lovely to read and receive ❤️

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She hadn’t heard from Kylo in four days. He’d gone quiet as the grave on her.

 

She’s had nothing but radio silence since the day of the bake sale. He’d scowled at Ben. And her. Then turned on his heel and walked off into the crowds. And she hasn’t heard a thing since. She was in hell that afternoon. Back on the stall trying to keep a neutral expression on her face, when inside, she feels like she’s crumbling apart.

 

She wanted to send texts, emails. She wanted to phone him. Leave messages. Anything. Even his anger was better to receive than the stony silence. Evie’s coming to realise how cold a sociopaths traits can feel. It was so bitter to be on the receiving end of them.

 

She can’t avoid the fact that she’s potentially ruined everything. Her heart feels like it’s cracked. And it’s agony to get up each day. It hurts to sleep, to exist, to breathe.

 

She barely eats. She doesn’t garden. It takes her an enormous amount of effort to shower. She spends all her energy going to work, biting her nails to the quick, and not thinking about that final text that will come sailing through on her phone, telling her it’s over.

 

The sad thing is, she waits to see it. Printed in bold letters. That Kylo was gone. He wasn’t coming back. She’s alone again. She’s had her glimpse of that tattooed, dashing-dark god. And now he’s off, true to form, moving on. Cutting her out and isolating himself again. Just when she thought she’d breached his heart.

 

One morning, even though it terrifies and hurts her. She puts the flawless necklace back into its velvet box on her dresser. She can’t bear it swinging round her neck like a reminding noose of a past love. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever had. She shuts the lid on it and makes a note to send it back to him when she gets a moment.

 

She sadly drags herself to work. Her spirit and her mood in the gutter. She has a full day. Proofing articles. Researching about the local Todd hardwares stores 150 year anniversary. She went to interview Todd. And upon seeing his lovely home and warm family life, it spears her chest like a javelin to the heart thinking she could have all that; if she’d have loved a different man.

 

And now she’s wretched from loosing the most intense man she’s ever known.

 

She floats through her day. Staying late. Making sure that she’s backed up all her files on the system. She realised it’s incredibly lame. But now she’s sadly single, it’s not as if she’s got anything to rush home for. Not even a pet for company. She remarks to herself as she locks up the office that maybe she’ll spring for adopting a stray from a rescue center. Maybe buy a goldfish. Give something some love. Something that potentially will love her back, and not leave her.

 

And doesn’t break her heart.

 

She drives home on autopilot. It’s as if her day hasn’t sunk in. She hasn’t felt any of it. She sure as hell hasn’t been there for it. Half of her was elsewhere. Consumed otherwise.

 

She goes to the store and tries to make herself feel hungry for some real food. It all tasted like ash in her mouth she was so miserable. She’s been sustaining her dulled appetite this past week on nothing more than a cup of soup and an apple here and there for her lunch or dinner. It’s as if she doesn’t have room in her grim mood to do anything else.

 

She picks up two bottles of wine. Some oranges. Her mind mopes about doing something healthy about getting some Vitamin C. And she buys herself a tub of ice cream telling herself a lie she can pick at it later if she gets hungry. She most likely won’t.

 

She continues on home. Hankering for a bath and an early night. Being miserable about her wretched love-life was a tiring occupation. She gets up the drive and lumbers her little car into park. She grabs her string bag, and the wine and heads on into the garden, up the porch steps.

 

She unlocks her front door and meanders in. Looking up her dark staircase. Her bedroom door was pushed shut. She could’ve sworn she left it open when she went out to work this morning. Waving off the thought. Shaking her head she moves into the kitchen placing her bag down. She slowly begins to unpack it all. Thunking the wine down on the counter. She turns to put it in the fridge. When suddenly the whole world spins.

 

A scream bubbles out her throat when she’s slammed into the kitchen island. A breath mingled with a whimper forced out her mouth.

 

She’s winded instantly. The oranges roll. The wine clunks over. A hard body is at her back. A big hand is clamping her neck. A groin is pressing into her ass. She feels calloused rough hands grip tough on her skin.

 

She _knows_ that touch. She recognises this roughness. It doesn’t calm her though.

 

Silky lounge pants graze the back of her bare legs. An expensive tee rubs against her arms where they’re pulled behind her, and crossed at the wrists. She tries to draw in panicked breath but his hand claws tighter.

 

Her heart sings in joy that he’s here. But then she whimpers when his hand damn near chokes her. His other hand leaves her neck. And then she sees why.

 

“You know it’s dangerous. Living so isolated. Sweet girl like you out here in the woods, all alone. No one around to even hear you scream. _Anything_ could happen...” Kylo growls into her ear.

 

She shudders when she feels the infamous, sharp, Farrer & Tanner knife, shining silver and cold, is pressed against her cheek. The point she feels pricking into her skin. Her toes curl in her shoddy heels.

 

“Kylo...” She huffs out weakly.

 

“Kitten.” He greets from above her. Tilting his head. Watching how he ran the tip of the knife down over her cheek, over her jaw, down her neck. He takes note how her necklace wasn’t there. That furrows his brow for a second.

 

When the knife digs into the skin of her neck. She shifts. Gulping. Her pulse racing. In this mood he’s in, she can’t be sure she won’t get hurt. This was Kylo in his most unrestrained state. All bets were off.

 

He hums contentedly to himself. Stroking her with a knife. She can feel through the utterly thin lounge pants how hard this has made him.

 

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” He smirks, tone sexy and flirting. He’s fucked her over the counter like this before. But he can’t put aside how big, teary-blue and pretty her eyes go when he puts a knife to her. It’s _enchanting_. He can’t get enough of it.

 

She hasn’t seen this side of him since Prison. This temper; this rage. She hates thinking she’s caused it.

 

“I’m _so_ sorry. I’m sorry for what happened at the bake sale.” She begins to stutter. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. Truly. I tried to walk away from him.” She sobs in her defence.

 

“We’re _past_ sorry, Baby.” He snarls coldly. Her stomach drops.

 

“Your apology means nothing to me. And so does his. I don’t want _words_.” He insists roughly.

 

His hands hurt her skin when he takes the knife away and tugs her hands to haul her upright. His fingers easily cuff her wrists together - in one hand. He brings her up and twists her around. Her lower back now solidly wedged to the counter. The knife is back pressing under her jaw. Hands joined behind her back. He towers over her and enjoys seeing her weakness. Heralded by a nervous look from her shining silver-blue eyes. Full of unshed tears.

 

He’s scaring her. No doubt about that. She’s never seen those eyes look so intently black. Danger lingers in them and she is right to be wary of this huge, broad bad man.

 

He’s so close. She can smell his cologne. Feel his furnacing heat. She notes how criminally good he looks in a white tee stretched tight across his arms and wide big chest. He really was stacked in every sense. She’s always forgets how huge he can be. She’s been away from him for just a few days and now she’s reminded.

 

He seems to grow in his rage. She swore he became taller when he was angry. His fury becomes this palpable essence in the air. Like sparking static. Or electricity.

 

He jerks his head towards the stairs with a smile. “Up there now. Got a little _surprise_ for you upstairs.” He intones tensely. His dark smile is making her stomach coil up with dread.

 

Her mind runs amok with the possibilities that sentence could refer too. Was he gonna tie her up? Hurt her? Use some of Ben’s arsenal of bondage toys on her. Or maybe he’s going to make her suffer tonight. She shivers in fear with all the various routes this night could take. She’s terrified already.

 

The look in his eyes is frenzied. “Did I stutter?” He adds in a deep growl when she doesn’t move. The coldness in his eyes could cut to the bone. Like black-ice frostbite.

 

She stumbles forwards. Pressing away from the counter. He lets her walk a few steps. Releasing her arms. She gingerly steps until she comes to the banister, making her way up the creaking steps as he follows, barely one step behind.

 

She slows when she feels him scrape that knife across the back of her legs as she ascends her creaking staircase. She keeps moving. He smiles when he sees goosebumps prickle at her exposed legs. She was wearing a simple white blouse, grey pleated work skirt and scuffed small heels. They clatter loudly on the stairs as she goes.

 

When she comes to the door. Kylo shoves the knife to the back of her hip.

 

“Heels off.” He commands as they stand on the landing. She steadies a hand to the wall and kicks them off onto the rug by the dresser on the landing.

 

She sinks down to her bare height. The knife is gone. And then his arm is around her waist. Her back to his chest. He lifts her off the ground, she squeaks, and he strides her quick into the bedroom. Her hair tangled in her face and it’s a tawny blur.

 

She gets thrown face first, width ways across her mattress. Bouncing, body jolting a little on the bed. She presses up on her elbows to catch her breath. And her heart shudders, shrinking to a stop when she gasps in shock.

 

They weren’t _alone_ tonight, it seems.

 

There was a big body hunched at the end to the left of her bed. A shaggy dark head bowed down, hands tied to her wrought iron headboard with thick black rope. Bound at the wrists. In a dress shirt spattered in blood, dark suit trousers. The bed clatters and he raises his head.

 

Evie is weakly staring at battered, bloody and bruised Ben. Staring heatedly back at her through one black eye. With blood ringing under his nose.

 

“Ben...” She gasps out in horror. She wants to go to crawl to him. To untie him. To stop him bleeding. Stop his pain. His wrists already look raw. But a big body slamming down to hers, traps her onto the bed.

 

Kylo braces himself over her on his arms. The knife in one hand. His hips nudge into her ass, as his mouth nuzzles his smile at her ear.

 

“Trust me, Kitten. There’s never been a man more used to being tied up.” Kylo smirks against her ear. Snuffling to get a scent of her hair. Her perfume. Feel the silken hot neck he’s missed against his lips. He _had_ missed this pretty neck. His cock hardens against her ass.

 

She couldn’t take her scared eyes away from Ben. He shifts. Wincing to thud onto his knees on the rug below.

 

“It appears I need to teach the two of you, a lesson. Consider _this_ your punishment.” He whispers into Evie’s ear. Looking straight at Ben.

 

Kissing her jaw thereafter. She wants to shudder. And let herself be turned on. But she doesn’t know _how_.

 

His body is off her back. He flips her over harshly. His smirk fading into seriousness as he grabs her shirt collar and rams the knife down the center of her buttoned up top. Fabric shrieks and tears under the knifes sharp edge. She gasps and keeps still. Eyes full of tears. She screws them shut.

 

He discards her ruined shirt off her. Then starts on the skirt. That too torn to bits with the brutal tip of his knife. He pulls that away. Leaving her flimsy panties and bra.

 

He doesn’t bother with the knife for those. He’s too desperate. They come away in his hands as he tears them off like they’re made of wet paper. They snap and tear at her skin. He might kiss those red raw marks tomorrow. Tonight? He’s not concerned about her comfort.

 

He’s concerned about _his_ revenge.

 

He peers across to Ben. Whose swallowing, licking his lips at the sight of Evie’s newly naked body. Hungry dark eyes raking her up and down, as she’s spread eagled under him. Kylo watches his his twin sits up to try and get more of a viewing.

 

_Not_ on Kylo’s watch.

 

“You want a better look, Ben?” He asks stiffly.

 

He grabs Evie by the throat and makes her stand. Bringing her round the end of the bed. She gasps and comes with him. Flesh jiggling as she’s manoeuvred around the bedroom, paraded naked, like his little fucktoy. Cause that’s what he’s making her into, for tonight.

 

He stands her close to Ben. Close enough. But not close enough to touch. Not that he could with his hands tied. But he wants him close enough so he could smell her perfume. Or her pussy. He wants Ben suffering.

 

And who knows better than Kylo what sheer torture it is to be able to look, but _never_  able to touch. To scent, to hunger, to yearn and long for a taste.

 

Let Ben see how Kylo felt when he first met her. When he lusted so much for his kitten, it consumed him alive. Like a daily inferno.

 

“How many more men will I have to fuck you in front of to prove my point hmmm?” Kylo asks her.

 

He was stood behind her. Proudly showcasing her nakedness to Ben. Who was growing giddy off the dancing notes of her warm simple perfume. He was oddly silent. Yet the wicked glimmer of lust in his eyes, scares Evie.

 

The hand that doesn’t have the knife under her jaw slips down and roughly grazes, pinching, twisting around her hard nipples. She whines and bucks back into him. His hands are merciless tonight. Her hands he keeps tucked behind her back. Thrusting her chest out for Ben to see.

 

“Getting a good look now, are you brother.” Kylo asks. Teasing her nipples. Pawing her tits in his hands. Evie’s cheeks couldn’t be more red. She wanted to curl up in shame on the carpet like a dead dry leaf in the first week of fall.

 

“Cause _this_ is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Kylo asks him angrily. “When I was away.” He adds.

 

“You wanted to fuck her so bad when my back was turned. _Mm.”_ He asks. Now running the knife down the centre of her body, watching Ben watch how her ribs shrunk and expanded with her terrified breathing she’s trying to keep under control. He skips the sharp edge down her belly, not stopping...

 

She screws her eyes shut and goes still. Trying not to hyperventilate when she feels him run the knife over her cleft, between her legs, he lets the tip slip over her pussy, stroking sharp at her clit. Pressing it. It felt cold, jarring. Yet somehow also good. But she doesn’t move so much as one muscle in fear he’ll cut her.

 

The knife spears her open, pushes through her slick lips and parts them. She’s waiting for the sting of a cut. But none comes.

 

He chuckles behind her. Bringing the knife away, she hears a sucking noise as he licks her essence off the tip of it. Moaning.

 

“What was it you said Ben? ‘ _Best damn cunt on the planet._ ’” Kylo repeats.

 

Ben’s jaw ticks. Kylo’s eyes glitter like far off stars when he lets the knife hang loose by his side, still in his grip. But now his hand slithers over her belly and two fingertips go to find her clit. Rubbing for a second before thrusting two thick fingers fully inside her. It stretched. Burned a little where she wasn’t quite wet enough. But then he moves, coaxing her cunt to drip for him.

 

Her legs shift and she groans. Eyes springing open to see the sorry, sore sight of Ben licking his lips at the sight of Kylo’s fingering her roughly. His hips jump into the bed frame where he’s tied legs either side of it. He looks like he wants to say something. Yet he sticks to silence and glares.

 

“That’s the one thing you got right. This is _the_ best fucking pussy on the whole damn planet. And it all belongs to _me_. And me _alone_.” Kylo snarls. Frenzied eyes finding Ben.

 

He’s beyond rough. Pinching her nipples, fucking her on his fingers. Making her arch back into him. Whining, her hands scrabble for his body. Clutching onto clothing or those tightly packed, enraged muscles. All of which strained in fury as he finger-fucks her from behind.

 

“Can you hear how wet she gets for me?” Kylo asks Ben.

 

He huffs a smile, scorching his breath onto her neck, heating her hair. Puffing it forwards as he speaks.

 

“I can’t tell you how much I’m obsessed with this pussy. Everything about it is perfect. So pretty pink. And tight. _Fuck_. Soft too. Like wet silk. The way its always dripping and soaked for me. The way it flutters when I make you cum. How every drop from your pussy tastes like heaven to me. It’s enough to make me _wild_.”

 

“Some days. Evie. Baby. I wanna eat you so damn bad. It’s an _ache_.” Kylo explains.

 

“You don’t know what it does to me after I make you cum on my tongue. Then you lie there, all limp and sweaty with your legs spread. And I get to see your gorgeous swollen little pink cunt. Oozing your sweet cum and drooling for me. Even the _scent_ of that wet pussy gets me hard. I love having the smell of it all over me when you gush.” He spits harshly.

 

Ben is wetting his lips again. Eyeing Kylo’s fingers. Covered and smeared in silky wet from her. He mumbles an unheard “Ditto.” Under his breath. Wishing his hands were free so he could better palm his cock. Stiff through his trousers now like steel. Pulsing wet and throbbing with need. Leaping up at the sound of Kylo’s fingers moving in and out of her.

 

_Fuck_ he wants to move so badly. But this is one of the hottest, most infuriating things he’s ever seen.

 

“So good at gushing aren’t you, Kitten?” Kylo kisses her neck. Mumbling. Making sure to rub his erection into her ass cheeks. Let her feel the damp spot staining the fabric. He moans gladly moving his hips into her.

 

“As much as I enjoy fucking you. I much prefer fingering you to orgasm. Baby. Feel how your greedy thing sucks my fingers in so deep. Feel that spot you know I can reach...”

 

As he speaks, she’s hyperventilating and whining. Body jerking. Because he’s currently flicking that weak spot with his fingertips. Each press drives her insane cause it nudges her closer to climax with each teasing pass.

 

Her hips shudder. Her body sweats. She’s a broken record of ‘yeses’ and ‘Kylo’s’

 

“You like that don’t you? That’s just the right spot isn’t it? The one that makes you squirt.” He hushes in her ear.

 

His fingers fuck so rough and hard. It’s a blur. It’s pounding her with his hand til she sobs. Every muscle of her spawning. Clenched ready.

 

“Such a needy perfect pussy.” He moans.

 

It just starts to feel like she’ll shatter to pieces, cumming hard. Blacking out from a rough, dirty orgasm with Ben watching.

 

He stops. Rips his fingers away. Actually rips them out of her. A wet sucking noise follows.

 

Then he greedily sucks those digits in his mouth. Going back to tease her wet sex again when she whines loudly in complaint. Avoiding her clit. Just gathering up wetness. Licking her pussy slick off his fingers. Rubbing. Licking. And repeat.

 

She’s sagging into him. Sobbing. Her gut burned with need for more. Aching. It pained her. _This hurt._

 

“You didn’t think I’d go _easy_ on you, now did you Kitten? I told you the two of you get punished tonight. I _fucking_ meant it.” Kylo snaps into her ear. Almost baring his teeth as he growls. Knife at her throat again.

 

“Ever been edged before?” Kylo seeks.

 

Tears spill from her eyes and she shakes her head for ‘no.’ Eyes clamped shut.

 

He wipes her tears away with a tut. Tears don’t work. Not on him.

 

“I _might_ let you cum after I’m done.” He explains simply. Kissing her the side of her jaw.

 

Kylo’s warm body leaves hers, her pillar of strength coldly abandons her, she almost collapses to the floor. Her knees trembling. She hears a rustle of clothes being whisked off skin. She sees his shirt pool to the floor beside her. Followed by his silky soft lounge pants.

 

“Now get on your fucking knees and get my cock in that pretty mouth.” Kylo’s snarling in her ear. She can feel his thick erection prodding at her ass where he stands.

 

She does, one hand to the bedstead as she nervously turns around to face him. All tattoos and warm naked skin before her. Smelling like an Ormonde Jayne dream. And looking like her best nightmare. Knife still to hand. It glints off the only light in the room, a soft honey-hold glow coming from her bedside lamp.

 

She looks in his eyes. Swirled dark, frenzied like tempests. Ben’s eyes are the same behind her as he scans up and down her naked body. Eyeing her pale plump ass and rounded thighs. She sinks to her knees in front of Kylo. Knowing full well what he wants.

 

He never usually requested oral sex. He preferred fucking her to being blown. He liked it every once in a while. But he had a body that was _made_ for fucking. This is how Evie knows he’s punishing Ben - he adored nothing more, than having a girls mouth on his cock. Kylo was doing this purely to spite him. She looks up at Kylo as she tentatively grips him with one hand, stroking gently to get him ready.

 

“Suck it.” He growls down at her. Knife to the side of her throat again. The other cupping her hair in a harsh grip. Tugging her forwards, so his velvet wet head brushes her cheek. Leaving a sticky string of precome behind.

 

She works up to getting her small mouth around his big erection. That wagged and throbbed under her touch. She licks at his underside, tongue tracing along the pulsing vein there, making him grow harder. He digs his hand in her hair harder, then forcing her to take him right to the back of her mouth.

 

She gags on him - a cock that big it would be impossible not too. She brings her hands to his meaty thighs and tries to relax her throat as he fucks into her face.

 

“You love this cock down your throat huh baby? No one else’s. Just _mine_.” Kylo sneers. Fucking her face. But looking right at Ben’s.

 

Kylo shows him how he feeds his cock to her. He grasps her hair and yanks her head to the side. So Ben can see intimately how she gags and tongues his length. He could see every inch of Kylo’s wet cock as it pistons in and out her stretched, drooling red lips. See the wet-sheen coating his brothers rosy erection as it disappeared into her throat.

 

Kylo’s pumping his hips slowly. Savouring her. Pulling slow to torture Ben. She’s humming and trying to keep her throat open for him. Hands on his tattooed hips looking pathetically small compared to his size. Her hands had looked impossibly tiny around their cocks too. Made them look even more gigantic.

 

He lets the knife hang down off her. Slack jawed, breathily groaning as she sucks him deep. Humming her name in content. Fingers caressing through her hair.

 

“ _God_ , Evie. Look at you baby. Gagging on me. But that doesn’t stop you, does it?” He chuckles, but his mirth devolves into a groan as she twists and sucks him gently.

 

“Stroke harder baby. Let’s give Ben a good _show_ , shall we.” He demands.

 

“Let him watch how you suck, and milk my thick cock of every drop.” He urges. Placing his hand around hers and twisting her hand tighter around the base of him. Making her stroke from root tip with half of him still buried in her mouth.

 

He pumps his cock slowly into her mouth as she withdraws, one hand back in her hair caressing her neck. The knife still in his other hand.

 

“As much as I wanna fill and fuck that cute mouth. We’ve got a _long_ way to go yet. Kitten.” He explains. Taking her chin after he withdraws completely from her mouth.

 

She looks demurely up at him. Jaw aching. Lips rosy wet, messy with spit and him.

 

She knows as she’s knelt naked on the floor. Limbs trembling, the rug biting grainy patterns into her knees, that Ben would’ve been _transfixed_ on the view of her body from behind.

 

And he was. It’s dirty. Desperate. And needy. And despite Kylo’s rage. Ben finds himself getting off on this; being forced to watch. Rubbing his erection into the bed for needy friction on his raging hard on.

 

“On the bed.” Kylo succinctly demands. Evie comes to a shaky stand, quietly and quickly doing what he says. She pauses and turns to ask him how he wants her. He answers with actions.

 

His big hand flattens to the centre of her back, feeling each vertebrae of her spine, and crushes her to the bed. On her knees. She catches herself on her elbows. So now she’s on all fours.

 

“Look at that. Just how I like my girl...” Kylo hums. Big rough hand smoothing over her soft ass. Kneading her skin, gripping handfuls of her flesh. She shivers out a whimper when the tip of the knife is back again. Smoothly crawling, being dragged, along her spine.

 

The bed dips as he gets on his knees behind her. He positions close to her on his knees. Cock throbbing hard against her ass. Then his grip is a stinging tug in her hair as he arched her spine to watch the obscene curve of her body as the knife is stroking along it. He listens how she gasps. He devours how she trembles in lust swirled fear.

 

His hips rut into her ass. His length sliding between the parting of her cheeks. Making himself at home. He groans when his blunt head catches friction as its slides between her cheeks.

 

“So obedient. Kitten.” He purrs in praise. His slick cock making lewd slapping noises against her wetness, that ran unhindered like a river down the back of her legs.

 

“I would eat you like this. But it’s difficult to deny you cumming when I get my tongue in you. So I guess I’ll settle for.... _this_... instead.”

 

Evie suffers and shakes as he grips his cock and starts to sink deep it into her. It’s thick and hot, impossibly large as always. She thinks he can’t feel any bigger, then he throbs and pulses, growing harder and it proves her very wrong. She doesn’t feel ready to take him. He hadn’t prepared her for this like he knows she needs. She’s too tight and he feels like he’ll split her open.

 

It’s wrong. _But feels so right._

 

Tears spear at her eyes and spring down her cheeks. She’s missed this. She misses how Kylo slams in, and takes up all the room in the world. Not just in sex. Or _in her._ But his intense character does that to her too. In sex, he was as phenomenally ferocious and ruthlessly persevering as he was in every other facet of his life.

 

Evie’s choking on moaning his name as their bodies slap together. Kylo’s shoving up the bed so she’s right in Ben’s face. Railing her, pounding her into his vision. Fucking her senseless right before his twins very eyes. Evie can’t tell if she’s shaking so much from withheld pleasure, fear, or if she’s so desperate to climax she’s pushing back to meet his rhythm as he rides her pussy to oblivion. She suspects it’s a heady combination of all.

 

“Look at him.” Kylo snaps her body back to his. Both on the knees. Still inside her. Knife over her throat again as the other cups her hip. Slipping down and toying her clit and pussy lips with his big rough fingers.

 

She’s prostrate against him. Head yanked back to his shoulder, but she opens her eyes and watches Ben.

 

He’s panting, sweat sheeted on his brow. Shaggy hair a wild mane tamped to his forehead. Eyes blown wide like cinder-burnt coals. He’s as close to Evie as he can manage. Watching her little body get violated in rage and lust by his brother.

 

“You know, you got everything when we were growing up, Ben. Everyone liked you. Teachers, friends, neighbours. I’m pretty damn sure, that even..., _fuck_. mom and dad liked you better than me.” Kylo remarks. Not slowing his pace for even a second. Slowly twisting in and out of her.

 

“ _My_ Evie is the one thing you’ll _never_ have.” Kylo says firmly.

 

“Imagine, the first girl to chose me over you. How badly does that hurt you? I would’ve thought you couldn’t _bear_  that.” Kylo remarks. Then his bitterness comes back.

 

“You got everything. It was handed to you cause you’re the golden child who everyone adored. And what did I get? I took every beating when you did something wrong. You misbehaved. I took the fall for it. You played music too loud in your room, smoked pot, or got in trouble at school. Guess which one of us dad would beat with his fists or his belt for it.” Kylo’s snapping at him.

 

Evie wants to sob. Her heart breaking in tender realisation.

 

Ben eyes look cold. “ _Fuck_ you.” He spits at his twin.

 

“That’s not the purpose of this exercise.” Kylo sneers. Evie’s slammed forwards onto all fours again. Much closer to Ben. Kylo shoves her there with his knees. Getting right up in his face. Hands on her hips, clutching the knife hard into her hipbone as he screws her. She was moaning before. She’s screaming now.

 

She’s in agony and pleasure as Kylo pounds her. So close to Ben she can feel his hot breath on her face. He sets his lips and watches how her tits sway. Her hair sticky to her sweaty body. Her flushed angelic face all creased up into her pleasure.

 

“Fuck baby. _Look_ at you.” Ben purrs to her. He knows he’s supposed to keep quiet. But nothing stops Ben Solo running his mouth.

 

“I’ve _never_ wanted you more. Evie.” He whispers.

 

“I wanna fuck you _so_ bad. That perfect tiny tight cunt I know you’re packing. How I want you to ride that sweet pussy on my face again, whilst my boyfriend fucks himself on my dick. That’s what I do to you. I’d do every _filthy_ thing I could to you.” He huffs.

 

Evie’s blushing harder as his mouth rambles on it’s usual tirade of smut. She doesn’t dare gasp. She chews her lip to keep silent.

 

“You looked so _hot_ with his dick in your mouth sweetie. Insatiable.” His eyes shutter as he looks up and down at her face.

 

“I’d give the world to watch you choke on my dick like that. I’d fill your throat baby. Even if he doesn’t want too.” He whines growing desperate. Voice breaking. Breathing becoming more ragged.

 

“Come on baby. Just untie me. Let me touch you. Feel you. _Please, please_ just...” He trails off. Trying to bargain.

 

“Le-let me eat your cunt. Please. Come on. Let me out and I’ll lick your pussy. I fucking _need_ you. Evie.” He growls. Hips still stroking into her bed. “Look how hard my cock is for you. I’d give it all to you. Everything. Let me _go._ ” He whimpers.

 

He strains hard against his bonds. So close now he can almost touch the side of her face. His nose brushes against her cheek as he rises up. Dark eyes on fire. Feral. Frenzied. Just like his twin.

 

“Untie me and I promise I’ll pound that tasty little pussy of yours til all night you can’t walk. I’ll _fuck_ you sore and even then when you’re full of my cum, even then, I won’t _stop_.” He flirts into her ear, huffing breath against her sweaty cheek. His eyelashes flutter at her skin. She’s hot and flushed. And he’s putting so many dirty visuals in her head.

 

She closes her eyes and tries not to cry. Kylo had closed his eyes for one second to savour fucking her. And when he opens them, he sees Ben trying to vain to kiss her cheek.

 

Kylo’s temper snaps in an instant.

 

He literally pulls himself off Evie, and launches her aside. She’s thrown sideways against the pillows with a gasp. Kylo grips Ben’s collar and slams the knife in a jagged line down his neck and shoulder. Cutting him downwards from jaw across to collarbone and shoulder.

 

For a sheer terrible second. Evie thinks Kylo’s slit his throat. Hand clasped in horror over her mouth to muffle her noises. But Ben’s grunts and groans tell her he’s only injured. Not fatally wounded. She cries watching his blue shirt blossom into scarlet. Blood spatters on her bed. Stains her floor from his chest. Kylo’s got it on his fingers too.

 

That’s when Evie notices something. Really truly _notices_ something, as Kylo puts his back to her.

 

His skin always felt so rough under her hands. She puts that down to harsh water and loveless prison products he uses on his body. His back always felt nearly leathery and tough. Now she can see _why_.

 

His back tattoos cover scars.

 

She can _see_ them. In the light that glints off his bowed back. Silvery healed skin and raised welts covered by his black ink. Her mouth drops. He was littered in them. Scars, lines, criss crossing his back like lashing tiger stripes.

 

She presses her hand over her mouth and cries more. Were this a different Kylo mindset, tonight, she’d kiss every one. Map their horrible paths with her fingertips. Press his skin reverently as if her loving touch would take away his pain. Press kisses and spoken hushes of “sorry’s” into his back  

 

It took vile, unimaginable shit to make someone a Sociopath. Now she can see how _and_ why that had formed him and his fury.

 

Those awful marks put there by a disgusting abusive hand. The scars were old and he’d grown them. Grown _with_ them. Carried them from childhood. Imagining Kylo as a defenceless dark haired little boy being given those scars, by someone who was supposed to care for and love him; it turns her stomach. She cries a sob for him. Tears leak out her eyes.

 

She can picture that poor kid stripping himself of all sentiment and feeling til un-emotive coldness and selfish care took his place. She comes to understand why Kylo doesn’t feel love. Why should he when all ‘love’ had done for him, was literally make him bleed?

 

She can’t say the violence on his behalf tonight was easy to take - it’s unpalatable. Terrifying.  

 

But her heart cracks wide open for him right then. 

 

“You _fuc-_ “ Ben grits out in a groan. Kylo grabs a fistful of his shaggy hair and hunches over him.

 

“Because you’re my brother. You get to live. If you were anyone else. I would’ve slit your throat and buried your body in the woods. Now comes the part where you listen to me, I will not repeat myself; you _ever_ touch her again. I’ll cut your fingers off real slow. One by one.”

 

He then reaches slightly under her bed and yanks out the box she thought long buried and forgotten. “And _these?”_ He spills its contents across the rug at Ben’s knees. Sex toys and fancy Coco De Mer gold items within strewn around, littering the floor like the trash they deserved to be associated with.

 

“No more gifts. No texts. No calls. _Nothing_.” He makes clear. His voice an impossibly dark octave that scares her. Sends prickles of pure poison chilling along her spine.

 

Then he turns his head to Evie. Roughly releasing his death grip on Ben’s hair. Jerking his head away. His dark eyes shine when he looks at her splayed naked body. Half in dark, half in light. He looks like an angry inked demon. Coming to possess her very soul.

 

“And _you_...” He growls at her. Devouring her with his eyes from head to toe. Her stomach tries to crawl out her body and she tries to squirm back into the pillows. Where was he gonna cut her? Neck? Face? Her chest?

 

With tears in her eyes, Evie squeaks as Kylo clamps his grip around her ankle and tugs. The grasp searing pain on her skin and grating on her bones. Staining her skin there with a rusty smear of Ben’s blood. She’s hauled down the bed and caged under him. Width ways on the bed. Right by Ben. Kylo’s big body engulfing hers. Chest to chest.

 

He crawls up her like a panther. Sheer muscle and looming animosity. And his claws are unleashed too.

 

Her slick chest rubs into his. His sweat is dripping onto her. His big muscles rubbing into her front. Nipple rings jolting her cold. Catching and pulling on her own hard nipples. He cups her neck with one hand, scanning her face. Coming down. Close enough to kiss.

 

“You’re gonna show my idiot brother how much my cock is the only one you want to be fucked by, aren’t you, Kitten?” Kylo growls in her ear. Nuzzling at her jaw. Plucking kisses there with his plush hot lips.

 

“Who owns this body? Who do you belong too?” He husks onto her lips.

 

“ _You_. Kylo.” She gasps weakly. “I belong to you.” She adds.

 

He kisses her hungrily. “ _Damn_ right you fucking do.”

 

He powerfully plunges his mouth to hers. Crushing them together. Hands pinned over her head. Draping her half off the bed. Giving her a desperate hot kiss that was full of his lust and desire for her. It makes her melt. She dares curl up into him. His kiss does what it always did do her; made her more sure than ever that every part of her, body and soul, was so maddeningly in love with him.

 

Kylo’s not a man for words. But he pours thousands worth of words into that one kiss alone.

 

He draws back after making her breathless, making her twice as so when he holds her neck, then slams his leaking cock into her. Spearing her open. Fucking her on it like a man possessed. For tonight, it seems he was.

 

Evie groans his name. “Ugh god-“ she sighs. He’s clamping her throat. Making her light headed as he chokes her. Fucking her senseless as if he didn’t even like her at all.

 

Her head hanging off the bed as he screws her. Ben is slumped into her bedstead, bleeding, injured, watching her pretty cheeks go rosy and she groans like a wild thing the way Kylo fucks her. He’s doing her so hard she’s at risk of being fucked off the bed, if Kylo didn’t have a chokehold on her throat.

 

“Now... _Fuck_ -You’re so tight for me baby. Tight and wet. My perfect little pussy.” He hums onto her lips. She sobs as he leans over and kisses her. Her bed groaning and thumping against the wooden floor at the sheer animosity of Kylo’s hips roughly drilling her.

 

“Maybe I’ll let you cum baby. Huh? What do you think?” He huffs. Sneering at her. Groaning as her soft walls gripped at his cock like he couldn’t believe. He could never have believed any pussy could be as perfect as hers.

 

He throws his head back to moan. Muscles bunching in his arm as he holds her neck and fucks her. But it’s not enough for her. He needs more. He needs Ben to see it all. How she cums. How sobs his name in rapture. How skilfully he makes her gush over him.

 

Evie’s fisting the bedsheets in her hands. Kylo can’t have that. He grabs under her thighs and lifts her up, still fully seated inside her, he kneels up and cups her onto his dick. Fucking it into her. Gripping her right off the bed. Hands cupping her ass. Bouncing her on him. Held up only by his arms. A brute display of his strength.

 

They’re rutting and sweating together like beasts. Rubbing hot bodies and flushed skin drowned in ecstasy. High off the euphoria. Kylo slides his hand up her back, savouring sucking love-bites into her neck.

 

Ben doesn’t know if he’s feeling woozy from loss of blood or pain. But he blinks, brow furrowing when he sees how... _tenderly_... Kylo’s handling her.

 

She digs her nails in his back and throws her head back to moan. He’s kissing her neck. Gasping and grunting her name. Not letting his eyes leave her for even a second.

 

Ben watches how Kylo looks at her. Watches her. Depends on her. Cups her body. Caresses her. Drinks her in. Especially the sight of her when they’re fucking. And actually...

 

They _weren’t_ fucking.

 

They _were_ , of course, obviously. But If Ben didn’t know better, he’d say that it was past that. This animalistic act. It had so much more than sheer lust causing it. It wasn’t loveless and angry. This was two people grabbing fistfuls of skin, in hunger and sentiment. This was sating a dirty hot need with someone they can’t live without. Need. Lust. _Love?_

 

That’s more harrowing to Ben than any of the violent stuff that he’s suffered tonight. The fact of Kylo depending on her. The man who didn’t have a heart, for all his pretence, fast falling in love with her.

 

Ben’s hands twist around and grip onto Evie’s bedstead. His wrists rubbed red raw. A flare of pain bursts through him. Blood soaking to his trousers from his left side. Dripping over his collarbone and up shoulder being on fire. Nerves pinched in pain. He’s never been _more_ turned on. It’s like his personal porn kink, watching his cute librarian get fucked ten ways til Sunday by his big violent brother.

 

How Ben wishes it was him in Kylo’s place right now. Rutting and pumping his dick into her perfectly pink vice-wet heat. The noises she’s making he closes his eyes and concentrates on

 

Kylo thuds his head down onto Evies shoulder. Biting skin. She groans and digs her hand into the back of his long hair. Tugging the sweaty inky strands through her fingers. Bunched up into him, he’s still forcing her to take him deep, his hips riding into hers.

 

“Kylo...” She gasps in a benediction. Voice hoarse. Sheened in sweat and getting railed to within an inch of her life.

 

Poor thing was probably desperate to cum from earlier. Ben’s hips rub into her mattress. Fuck. If he kept this up, he’s gonna cum too. Staining inside his boxers like a horny high-schooler. He was close too. As were they. From the sounds of things.

 

She’s engulfed. Dying in bliss. Being choked and fucked by the dark dangerous man she loves. He’s devouring her face with dark eyes. Feeling the rasping breath coming in short sharp huffs from her lips. Feeling her pulse hammer his hand.

 

“You wanna cum?” Kylo snarls.

 

She gurgles her answer so quick. “Please. Please, _please_ let me-“ She whines.

 

His answer is to sneer and pound harder. He’s such a sight dripping sweat and flushed. Evie wants to commit that forever to memory. It’s just so beyond arousing to see him like this.

 

Her fingers dig in so deep she’s not surprised if she manages to draw blood out his tattooed back. She feels his shoulder blades roll. He’s essentially holding her entire body, holding her up to fuck her with one hand. It’s so swoon worthy Evie can’t help the way she’s thrown mercilessly into the crushing grip of her orgasm.

 

_Oh_ , how it lasts. Kylo fucks her through it all. His _and_ hers. He drags her body so deep every nerve of her cunt is battered. From her spine to her toes pleasure zings through her. Ripping apart every cell. She’s eaten alive with pleasure.

 

Kylo absolutely fills her up. He always does. It’s so dirty. Feeling the hot-thick rush of him flood her insides. She comes to realise that she’s become so used to the sensation. The depraved part of her finds that she _craves_ it.

 

He’s scorching her jaw from his hot breath. Still holding her limp body curled in his lap. Evie’s breathing so shallowly. Kylo’s listens to her heart palpitate madly and before he knows it. She’s limp in his arms.

 

Hands falling off his back. Her eyes swimming with back spots. Brain dipping out of consciousness. She sags into him. Grumbling his name, and God’s, breathlessly.

 

Kylo chuckles and kisses her dewy temple. “No Gods. Kitten. _Just_ me.”

 

Ben is limp too at the end of bed. Blood loss making him lightheaded from Kylo’s deep cut. And he came too. Humping at the hard mattress watching Evie - for the last time.

 

He twists his head, sweaty brow resting on the bed frame. Panting as he watches Kylo cradle her barely stirring body, moving back on the bed, laying her gently on the pillows.

 

She comes too. Clutching at his arms arms he curled into her. Wrapping her in his hold. His chest to her back. Nuzzling at her shoulder as she pants for breath and energy. Him denying her orgasm until the last minute made hers so powerful it practically knocked her out.

 

And he wasn’t done with her yet either. She’s getting her breath back. Then he’s gonna edge her some more. They’ve only cum _once_. Kylo’s wanting her to be wrung out to nothing but a dehydrated husk by dawn.

 

Ben sees how Kylo dotes on her. He keeps her warm and safe. Cradled in his big tattooed protection. He closes his eyes, kissing her neck and sighing in bliss against her. Free hand curving over her hip. Caressing her. She does the same. Lifting a shaky arm to stroke at his hair. He lets her. It was like watching a human coming to finally tame a wild beast. 

 

Kylo never used to be this man. _Not_ this attentive kind lover. The girls he used to fuck had literally seconds to catch their breath before he told them to get the fuck out. And here he is- tender and _calm_. Since when was his brother calm? Ben knew what this was. He sees what he’s stepped on...

 

This was the big bad wolf falling in love with the lamb...

 

 

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d I do? Acceptable comment feedback includes and is not limited to;
> 
> Screams  
> Caps  
> Emojis  
> Or rambling diatribes 
> 
> Do your worst darlings ❤️
> 
> Oh, and P.S, try telling me Ben doesn’t go to the “hot librarian” section of Pornhub and jack off to thoughts of Evie. That’s my HC


	30. Orders & Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chap is sort of, fodder, really. Kylo’s hard when it comes to emotions
> 
> More to come of some cuteness at Kylo’s place. Stay tuned you lovely lot...

 

 

 

 

 

Kylo went on til dawn.

 

One of those hot heavy nights filled with breathless pleasure and too much sex. Thing was, Kylo couldn’t get enough. His little Kitten under him, drove him _wild_. Plus he hadn’t fucked her in almost four days. He pounded. And fucked and pumped, rutting and driving her insane with his body.

 

He forced her to cum. Over over over and over again. He’d been filthy about it too - spat on his fingers and shoved them in her. Barely getting her ready. Sucking his three fingers after he’s fucked her with them, and she’d cum on them. Spitting on his dick using it as lube. Fucking her to orgasm in any position he wanted. Then making her do it all over again til she’s wrung out dry.

 

He used everything. His mouth, his tongue, his cock and his fingers - all on her. Relentlessly. He had thought he’d want to edge her tonight. Use her to let himself cum as many times as he pleased.

 

But he’d forgotten how damn pretty the noises he ripped out her throat sounded. He took charge of her small little body. Told her how, when and where she’d cum. And she’d obeyed. Meeting his every demand until she psychically collapsed under him. He felt her spasm and go limp under his crushing hold.

 

He had her on her knees, hand on the back of her neck, ramming her into the bed with sharp snaps of his hips. Watching her pale body bounce beneath him. Her eyes rolled back in her head, tears wet on her cheeks, and he thrust hard and fast through his orgasm, riding her to ride it out.

 

Kylo’s in heaven each time she spreads her legs for him. She welcomes him. Doesn’t shut him out. Or squirm away. Honest-to-god opens her legs and _lets_ him have his filthy dominant way. _She was a fucking angel._

 

He grunted, and slowly rolled his hips to a stop. Sighing her name in bliss. When he peeks down at her again, she looks like she’s barely alive under him. Thighs shivering into his hips. Ass reddened by his hand. Cause he’d spanked her raw with each thrust earlier. Her back is a map of his mouths bruises and his hands clutch marks.

 

He should have taken that knife and carved his name right onto her back for all to see. She was covered in evidence of him. Inside _as_ well as out.

 

He pulls himself out - sticky and dripping. Her cunt pulses along his retreating cock. The gigantic thing it was that filled her up. And up. _Up up_ _u_ _p and up_. Right until she thinks there’s nothing of him left - then he _still_ sinks in one or two inches further.

 

She whimpers in sore-pain at the squish their bodies make. His cock has been plunging in her, hot and heavy, for hours. It feels criminal how he’s leaving her so empty now.

 

She’s trembling and squirming on the damp bed below and all he’s done is pull out. He smirks at that. How he could still be hard, he had no clue. He’s cum five times tonight. Maybe he needs _more_.

 

He’s merciful - for now. Another orgasm might just kill her. He pats her round little butt, and pushes her to the bed. She flops down like a trembling sack of useless, boneless skin. Falling square into a patch of dawn sunlight that hit the bed.

 

The soaked, ravaged, blood stained bed.

 

Ben had been unceremoniously kicked out hours ago. Kylo wasn’t giving his voyeuristic brother the pleasure of seeing more.

 

Somewhere near one in the morning, after making Evie pass out from eating her pussy like a man on death row having his last meal - Kylo pulled his pants on, slammed the knife through the rope that bound Ben to their bed, and hauled him up by his collar. Re-reminding him with a growl how body parts will be cut off, and stuffed down his throat, if he continued to pursue her.

 

Ben shrugged weakly out his hold. Took a fleeting glance once more at a blissed out Evie, draped naked across her bed. Legs spread. Nipples erect. Pussy and thighs gleaming wet in the half-light. The wetness sheened between her legs corresponded to the slick wetness sat glimmering on Kylo’s chin. His lower face coated in her wet messy-creamy orgasms.

 

He’d lost.

 

Kylo had taken _every_ opportunity to resupply him of that fact. Making her cry his name. Sob it in pleasure. Making her Thank him as he held her down and gave her another load. He’d even spent one of his orgasms all over and across her stomach and thighs, telling her to wail out his name. And she did.

 

Ben skulks away to the waiting Uber Kylo summoned for him. Before his Twin is even halfway onto the landing. Kylo’s back in bed, crawled, slotting between her legs.

 

Humming delightfully into her cunt with the same enthusiasm he’d show for devouring a Michelin star meal. Humming, sucking, tasting. Dragging his tongue through and up her. Using it to messily scoop more cream out her trembling-raw pussy. Swallowing down every drop. As if he were DT-ing from withdrawal and this cunt was the only thing that could get him drunk.

 

He speaks in a hot huff against her cleft. The cresting mound of her perfect pussy. Kissing the soft malleable skin there. “You got another in you, Kitten?” He asks. Teasing her with slick hot fingers pushing into the very overused heart of her. Kylo’s heard the front door slam, a whining engine start, puttering over. Hears her garden gate shriek open.

 

He couldn’t care less - he’s filling her with his fingers and tasting her tight little clit as if it’s the most exotic expensive thing he’s ever had in his mouth - _damn close to it._ _  
_

 

She’s to weak to even protest. Completely sapped. He makes her cum again for the sheer hell of it. Liking how she shakes and drenches his face when she does. He smiles lapping her up. Her cunt’s shrewd noises filled the air. Everything is her. His wet face. The tip of his nose. His fingers. His tongue. All tastes like her.

 

Back to now, with Dawn coming up purple and red in the sky behind the green wood, he watches her struggle for breath. Thrown back to the one pillow they’ve not managed to yet knock off the bed by fucking like crazed animals in heat. Her neck stretched back, mottled black-purple and blue. He can see his teeth indents sunk raw into her skin. She’d have a lethal set of hickeys there tomorrow. She wouldn’t be able to turn her head without feeling him. _Good_.

 

He reaches over and tilts her chin, looming over her, making her peer up at him. Her eyes barely crack open. Bloodshot. She needs rest. Needs to hydrate. Needs sleep.

 

He could realistically _kill_ her like this. He’d told her that hours ago. Clutched at her throat. _Hard_. Mumbled darkly at her;

 

“I could fucking hurt you _so_ easy right now.” All that did was make her clutch a hand over his and her eyes rolled back into her head. He came purely at the sight.

 

All that. Yet. He _still_ can’t resist.

 

With the thin sheet tucked over him. He crawls down low, up across her belly. Forcing his big body between her thighs, pinning them clasped to the bed. His chest presses down onto her pussy and his big hands cup her tits. Rolling them in his hands.

 

She’s too far gone to even sigh his name. Everything hurts. Everything’s frazzled and her brain is blown apart. Her throat burns. As does the other 90% of her body. She can’t take another damn thing. Sharp pain tears through her when he slathers his tongue across her nipples. Making them crest harder with his teeth. Plucking and sucking at them.

 

“Kylo.” She rasps weakly. Her voice hoarse. Crackling like broken static.

 

He’s nuzzling into her tits with his mouth and tongue. Kissing. Suckling. Tasting sweat and drops of his dried cum on her - He’d cum in her mouth earlier too, for the first time. She was a messy girl. Had drooled him everywhere. He almost came _again_ just watching her do that.

 

“ _Hmmm?_ ” He hums in answer to her weak plea. Sucking one nipple a harsh rosy red. Pulling back, looking at its colour. Before sucking it again. Where his chest pressed to her legs, her wet cunt is slimy hot against him. Smearing at his skin. He wants to devour her again.

 

“I think I _need_...” She can’t even finish her words. Her mind is too shot to pieces.

 

“What do you expect when you lie there. This perfect fucking pair of tits all looking fucking pretty and those nipples all hard for me.” He smiles.

 

Pushing the full things up and together in his hands. Biting down on her soft tits as if he wanted to take a bite right _out_ of her. Changing from left to right nipple as he uses too much stinging teeth on her. Nibbling her sore.

 

He gravitated his way up her body. Tonguing playfully at her jaw. Giving her a filthy sucking kiss that was all teeth, lips and sloppy tongue. He tasted like a combination of their cum and sweat. Tang and salt. It’s a salty kiss he traps her into.

 

Their sweaty bodies rubbing together. That was nothing new. They’d been dripping sweat onto each other all night. Earlier he’d rubbed his into her stomach and tits as he made her cum for the millionth time.

 

He growls in humming pleasure. Yanking her body up in his arms and rolling them over. So he was underneath. Acting as her muscly, tattooed, still-horny mattress. His big cock tented the sheets obscenely, before he gets her on top of it. He doesn’t move to fuck her - just drags her onto it. Seating it fully inside her. Feeling their cum squeezing out around him.

 

She sags in pleasure on his lap. Holding his beefy shoulders. He cups her cute ass and keeps her close. Nuzzling her bruised neck. His nose stops at her clavicle. A furrow weighs down his brow.

 

“Do you not like the necklace I got you?” He asks. Dragging a finger in a big V over her collarbone. Ghosting a fingertip over where it should’ve been resting on her dewy love-bitten skin.

 

“I can get you another one if you like. Cartier. Tiffany. Chopard. Name it. I’ll buy it.” He offers.

 

She manages to summon enough brainpower to run her fingers along his chiseled dripping pecs. Smearing his sweat over his tattoos.

 

“No. I-..” she stumbles. Looking at how his huge big chest rose and fell. He tilts her chin up. Dark melting eyes making her talk.

 

“Kylo. That necklace is _the_ most beautiful present anyone’s ever given me. I wouldn’t change it for all the _world_.” She explains.

 

His eyes flicker to her collarbone. Then back to her face. She could pinpoint exactly what he thought. _If that’s the case, then, why aren’t you wearing it, Kitten?_

She’s wetting her lips. Nervous, before she answers him. Gently carding a fingertip over the Bernini Sculpture tattoo on his ribs. Tracing its shape. He indulges her. But he _wants_ that answer.

 

“I thought, you.... weren’t coming back. To me.” She says simply. Daring a look up at him. As usual his face, nor eyes, gave nothing away.

 

His eyes turn hard. That curling smirk tugs at his lips. He thrusts his hips. Catches on spots inside her, that make her shudder. The ones he’d been pounding all night.

 

“Here I _am_ , Kitten.” He leers.

 

“I can... _see_ that.” She blushes. Blinking shyly. Almost scoffing wryly. He’s been pounding her silly all night. She was _well_ aware of his presence. And she’s glad for it.

 

She can’t say watching him cut Ben was easy to take. But she gets that it was a lifetime of pent up aggression that stormed its way out of him in that knife-cut. She could get at the dynamic of them; and why Kylo would be so mad.

 

Ben was the golden boy who everyone fawned over. He was used to that. But Kylo was different. Less fawn. More brood. He was treated differently because his personality was a more reserved one than Ben’s. They may have been twins in looks; but their personalities are worlds apart.

 

Ben was a charmer. He could woo everyone and have them believing he’s a god. Kylo had to work to forge his relationships and kinships with people. It was harder for him. Constantly being the outsider watching Ben have it all, have everyone he wanted. Every girl. Every man. His pick of everything. It must’ve been tough on the sociopathic Twin.

 

Only now, Kylo’s more than a match for Ben. Just as wealthy. Equally as successful. Doubly as handsome. He can stand toe-to-toe with his Twin. Trouble was, Ben still believed he was infallible. He still thought he had the world, and everyone in it, crushed up in his palm.

 

So it was a double “ _screw-you_ ” that Kylo’s snagged the girl he likes. And what’s more, she _chose_ Kylo over the easy-going, carefree, always-liked, Ben. That had never happened, and where Kylo got the girl, Ben would sulk and gripe over the fact that, for once, he hadn’t _won_ where Kylo’s lost. This wasn’t his victory.

 

Nothing excuses the fact Kylo gave Ben a scar. But it does help her to understand that there were two people she needed to be wary of. If Ben’s behaviour at the Bake-Sale was any indication. She’s been blindsided. Only now she’s been shown the ugly sides of both men.

 

And only Kylo is the man she’s seen falling helplessly in love with. Her soft heart cut him some slack.

 

“ _I’ll_ \- I’ll put it back on in a bit...” She sighs. Ooo-ing slightly at how his big cock is now thrusting, stroking her walls.

 

He eyes up her sweaty chest with hungry eyes. She gasps as he shifts them over again, rolling her onto her back and caging her to the bed in an enclave of tattooed muscle.

 

“Good answer.” He growls. Kissing at her sore neck. Getting horny again the way his cock throbs against her crushing wet walls.

 

_“God_ _._ I wanna _fuck_ you again.” He growls to her neck. “Can’t get enough of that cunt of mine.” He sighs onto her neck. “Had this pussy all _fucking night._ _A_ _nd_ now I need it again.”

 

Evie whines in protest. Almost sobbing. “I either need sleep or caffeine. Before- _any_ of that occurs.” She sighs weakly. He’s stabbing biting kisses into her neck. Thrusting shallowly into her.

 

But then she’s moaning too- she’s in pain and sore. Throbbing with raw nerves and aching but, _god_ , then he fumbles for her clit and strokes it and she can’t deny his pounding hips start to feel good again.

 

“Kylo.” She whines. Telling him off. He doesn’t listen.

 

No man should he allowed to have the stamina to do this. He’s been inside her all night and now he wants to cum again. _He needs too._ _T_ _his sweet_ _p_ _ussy is calling to him._

 

“How have you not pounded a hole in my wall yet?” She sighs as he thrusts deeper. Indicating to the way her headboard slams the yellow wallpapered wall. Creaking and groaning with their movements. How the metal frame hadn’t worn and snapped yet she’s amazed at.

 

“You mean, how have I not broken this creaky old shitty bed yet...” He snaps back smiling.

 

He chuckles a breathy grin onto her neck. Palming her tit in one hand. Biting her lip in a dirty kylo style kiss. Nudging into her, starting to groan as oversensitivity starts to get to him too. He’s circling and grinding his hips. Stuttering fast against her.

 

He holds the bedstead above her head and starts slamming her body. Yanking one of her thighs over his shoulders. Hips smacking. Brutal pace. She’s crying his name into her pillow. Trying to squirm back as she cums.

 

It bursts through her body like a painful flare. Radiating outwards for her too-used pussy. She grips him so tight. He doesn’t want to leave her, groaning her name fucking loud as he orgasms too.

 

“ _Oh. Fuck_ baby. _Fuck_. Such a tight pussy. Fucking sucking me dry.” He growls at her. Resting his sweaty forehead against her headboard. One hand slams to the wall as he curves and ruts his big dick into her.

 

She’s floating away to heaven - sinking into sleep with no choice.

 

Gasping. She barely registers as Kylo pulls out and spends the rest of his enormous orgasm all over her beyond spent body. She’s barely awake to see it splatter over her ribs, chest and down her stomach as he strokes himself off. She feels warm. Fuzzy. Lifeless.

 

She looks so fucking gorgeous painted in him. He does sag down into her for real this time. Cock finally going soft. Waning. His body smearing into his own spend as he kisses her tipped back chin - _now_ he was truly spent.

 

“Dripping my cum baby. _Fuck_. Look at those pretty tits now.” He smirks. He watches the sticky pearl of his cum leak down off her. Staining all over.

 

Panting, he brings her plaint body to his. Rolling on his side behind her. At her neck; he speaks. Just as the sun tips over the trees and sets the bed ablaze in golden ochre-yellow. Just as birds break into song and dance and flit about in the sky; he speaks.

 

“I’m right here. Kitten. And I’m not _fucking_ going anywhere...” He warns in a sigh. Slumping onto his back. Away to sleep. Gone to dreams as she had before him.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

They wake up closer to noon. Evie feeling oddly guilty about napping half the day away. She stumbles out of bed to make coffee. Knees shaking still. Not wanting to think about the sheer volume of dried fluids staining her skin. Still feeling like her tiredness weighs down upon her, like a tonne of bricks.

 

Kylo tries to yank her with one arm back into bed for “Five more minutes, Kitten.” In a sleepy grumble. Tattoos glyphs flexing to pin her in place.

 

Before he can get a chokehold on his bedmate. She kisses at his beefy arm and, somehow, wriggles free. She squeaks out something soft about needing the loo. And quickly disappears from his view.

 

That makes his eyes crack open a little. She sounded reticent. Shy. Nervous.

 

He watches her scurry for the bathroom. Pulling on her nightshirt. The one he likes and hadn’t ripped to bits yet. He likes that it’s see-through. He loves seeing her nipples perk up peachy through the linen blue striped fabric. Loved how when she wore it with no panties underneath, he could make out the veiled shape of her pussy.

 

When she re-emerges from the bathroom. With brushed hair and teeth, she sidles right by the bed and heads downstairs. Usually it was a kiss on the cheek, or asking what he wanted for breakfast.

 

She’s acting different this morning.

 

That wakes him right the fuck up. He hauls up, growling like a two-tonne grizzly annoyed, predator emerging from its cave. He searches the floor for his pants and his tee. Scoops them both up and slips them on. He grumps in annoyance seeing that Ben got blood on his white Calvin Klein shirt. He forgets it. Just sticks to his black lounge pants. He shrugs them on and lumbers downstairs like a creaky beast. Even all nighters took their toll on him too. Mostly. Sometimes.

 

He rounds the kitchen door and sees her out her back to him as she shakes coffee grounds into her prehistoric machine. Adding a spoonful of this and that. Chicory and nutmeg, today. Sometimes it was vanilla, clove, or cinnamon. Kylo stands barefoot in her archway. Leaning against it. Watching her for more signs of trouble.

 

She turns and grabs two coffee cups from her dresser. Sets them on the side. Walks back for the fridge. Giving him a meek smile as she goes. That wasn’t her usual beaming smile.

 

She’s acting strangely around him. And he can take two flying guesses as to why. He tests the waters. Slinking up behind her as she pours them coffee. He couldn’t really be stealthy barefoot. His feet slap too loud on the the floor. He comes loudly across and grips her waist both sides. Kissing her neck as she pours. Bracketing her to the counter.

 

Smoothing his arms to cross at her front and letting his big strong muscles bunch over her. Keeping her in his hold for a second. Letting his hot tattooed skin invade her body. His warmth seeps through her thin nightgown. He loves that she now wears fuck all underneath. She’d learnt that the hard way - and through him shredding several pairs of her cheap cotton panties with his bare hands.

 

He steps back when the coffee cups are filled. She turns and hands him one. He steps back more to drink it. Lifting it to his lips like the ambrosia it was. Of course it didn’t give him the same kind of kick as his fully expensive Van Der Western coffee machine at home. But he liked her soft, robust and flavourful blends. He likes how she switched flavours now and then. Kept him on his toes.

 

They sip in silence. Evie leans against her counter. Kylo leans one hand on the island. She bites her lip nervously at him as she turns and puts her coffee down. Very shy words come out in a soft hush.

 

“Can we talk?” She asks tentatively.

 

He raises his head. Stands down his coffee. His tin chest seals over. Thinking this is when she’ll finally give him his marching orders. Tell him she wants no more to do with him. He’s almost been expecting it - the great sex kept blindsiding him to putting off this nastiness. But now its here. She wants nothin more to do with him. And why should she?

 

_Kittens didn’t belong with killers._

 

She wets her lips. He stands his coffee down and tries to draw back his thoughts.

 

“I... just. I want to say how- amazing these last few weeks have been. B-before the bake sale uh- unpleasantness with Ben...” She starts. His eyes glimmer hard.

 

Kylo had never heard a girl describe Ben as ‘ _unpleasant_ ’ before. That was a first. W _ell_ _._ He’d heard all sorts come from bimbo’s mouths after he’s dumped them for the next slutty one. But unpleasant never quite made the cut.

 

He doesn’t think he wants to stick around to hear her reject him. But he stays rooted to the spot. Half naked. Eyes turning cold like black ice.

 

“I know last night was... not just about me. It was personal to you. I get that.” She says. She looks up at him. He searches her blue eyes coldly.

 

It’s _wrong_ \- she’s stood there all sexy and covered in his bruises and scratches. And here she is dumping him like trash. He can’t take it. His chest starts to swell in anger. _So wrong._

He wants to storm out. Leave. Rage. He thought he was done with rage clogging his chest and throat. Sour like acid. But here it is; her ending things after he went to so much trouble getting Ben here and proving her his in front of him. He wants to punch a hole in a wall- or...

 

“I feel like. Just- _so much_ has happened with us. And _-_ I really missed you those days we were apart. _Really_ truly missed you _._ And I was just wondering if we could, just be together now. And maybe-do nothing at all.” She asks him tenderly. “Just _us?”_ She adds hopefully.

 

She almost leaps back when Kylo’s eyes snap to hers. His brow furrows straight for a second. She wonders for a second if she’s said something wrong...

 

“Have I misread-“ She begins. He steps closer and cuts her off.

 

“You’re not ending things with me?” He checks stiffly.

 

She blinks. “ _Lord_ , Kylo. _No_.” She insists sweetly. “I would never do that.” She explains. Reaching up and setting an unruly chunk of coal black hair back behind his ear as it strayed wild. Still sweaty from sleep. Dark tresses shining on the sunlight like supernovas.

 

“Good.” He snaps.

 

He wasn’t kind. He only knew selfishness. He only knows how to be rough and abrasive with people. He softens a bit, sighing, when he leans close and cups a hand to her hip through her thin shirt. It was nearly threadbare in some places. Should’ve been illegal for her to look _this_ good _\- this irresistible-_ in the morning _._ _  
_

 

“You sounded for a minute like you wanted out.” He says gruffly.

 

“I don’t.” She answers simply. Heart right fucking there on her blue sleeve. His was harder to get too. If he fucking had one at all. He’d long suspected he didn’t. Only when he was inside her, he felt the rotten black thing start to beat his chest.

 

He grunts lowly. Nodding once.

 

“Do you-..” Evie starts to ask. He tilts a smirk at her. She was seeking if he wanted her still.

 

His eyes shone like polished black coins. He says nothing. But he does eye her up in _that_ way again.

_“_ I think we need to go to my place tonight. No big deal. But I’ll have someone in to clean the wood floor and change the bed. Can’t fucking stand the creaky thing anyway. This gives me a perfect fucking excuse to throw it out. New bedding. New mattress. New bed, on me.” He explains. His penance.

 

Evie blinks. “ _Oh_. You don’t have to-“ She tries to be polite. He grips her chin tight. Shutting her up. Two fingers across her lips.

 

“I’m putting in the call right now. We’ll go to my place. Get some downtime. Just _us_.” He says with finality. She smiles and agrees weakly.

 

“I’ve got work to do anyhow. Pack your bags, Kitten. Don’t bother with pyjamas...” He orders with a smile.

 

And again, she listens. And obeys. _Gladly_.

 

There was more she wanted to ask and say. But she bides her time.

 

_For now, there’s always tomorrow...  
_

 

 

 

 

~

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do tell me what you think (don’t by shy I’m nice really, honest)


	31. Calm and Easiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff incoming. You’ve been warned

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stepping into Kylo’s place uplifted her. Somehow made her feel cosy and safe. The same way she felt when coming home after a long day. It was a relief and an escape coming here. This luxury glass mansion up in the hills - decorated finely like a glossy page straight out of an interior magazine.

 

Kylo holds the door for her with one strong arm, letting her glide in with her meagre carpet bag of things. Kylo had smiled when she’d reappeared on her porch. Stating she was ready to go. That modest flowery bag hanging off her elbow. Somehow made him smile. The sheer fact she can make herself at home anywhere with so few things.

 

She steps into his warm, clean home. Without knowing it, he’s made it a cosy place for her to be. It smells like lemons and neroli. As usual. It’s tidy. Calm. Clean. She imagines it must be a nice relax for him not to be in her shabby chic messy little shack. Instead he can kick back in this big beautiful house. Feel at ease.

 

Only he _doesn’t_. He doesn’t look on this place with any sort of favour on his behalf. He’s tired of it. Fed up, right through to his fucking bones, of this house. It had stopped being a faithful home to him years ago. Coming back from Prison only made it worse. Made him think of all the shitty things that had happened here. All the awful people in his life that had, thankfully, come and gone.

 

He thought about the night he got arrested. What he was doing before Ben’s call came through - not knowing that night that being summoned by Ben to where he was, would end in disaster, and ultimately lead to a drastically violent alteration of his life.

 

He thought about every shitty ex he’d had, whose names all mushed into insignificance in his mind. He can’t remember names. Or faces. He does remember the bad things. How shitty some of them made him feel. What awful shallow people they’d been. But then he was the same way, right back. He co-existed in a relationship where both parties cared about themselves first and foremost. Selfishly not giving a flying fuck about the other. As long as he got sex, and they got access to his generous amounts of money.

 

He doesn’t like how this place drags up his ugly past for him whenever he steps foot inside it. Hates how the glass walls refract back at him, throwing back his scarred up reflection. He’s even bored of the view. The garden. The pool. None of this house feels _right_ anymore. Truth be told, he didn’t even care to be here. He was currently searching for new plots of land to start all over-

 

New house. New land. New designs. New memories.

 

He had a feeling as he watched Evie cross into his dining room before him, setting her stuff down on the table, that she could help him get there with the new memories part. There was no denying it- she was a _good_ person. Maybe he could use a little more of that. Someone not so self involved or money obsessed. Someone easy.

 

Fuck knows he’s had to deal with enough shitty and difficult people in his life. People who annoyed him, embittered him, angered him. Now he quite likes the change of pace dealing with a girl like her. Easy. Kind. Shy. _Different_.

 

He folds his keys into his hand. His Gucci overnight-travel bag in the other as he watches her lay her tote bag down on the table. He doesn’t realise he’s staring at her until she looks up at him from where she’s unpacking a bunch of novels she brought along for perusing. She gives him a meek, seeking smile.

 

He knows she probably thinks he was too rough with her last night. And he was. But to his mind; Ben had got off lightly and so had she. He was capable of far worse to those who’d disobeyed him in the past. No one seems to realise just how cruel he was capable of being.

 

She had mellowed his abrasiveness a little. Through her body. With sex. Calmed him down a little - the barest scant amount - cause in the end he didn’t edge her for hours like he planned to do. He fucked her _raw_ instead. An alternative punishment. Giving her too much of him til they both collapsed. He knew she’d be a sore wreck today. Sex was off the cards - for now.

 

He knows she couldn’t have helped it. The incident at the Bake-Sale. He doesn’t entirely blame her. Ben was strong. Determined. She couldn’t have fought him off on her own even if she’d tried. Not once he’d cornered her like he had. And he’d watched her squirm and try. Yanked up against that tree. No room to escape as he forced himself on her. He knew Ben’s appetite was voracious. But he’d never stooped so low as to snatch a girl out from under Kylo before now. He’d never _cared_ enough about the girl before.

 

Thing was; whether Kylo understood, or even liked it, or not. Evie was more involved with him by this point, more so than when he went to her, _that_ night, after prison. For the Twins, that had been a release of their lusts for her. Kylo was alright sharing Evie with Ben at the point. Because he never suspected she could mean more to him.

 

She means a _damn_ sight more to him now. She was under his skin. He didn’t even realise it.

 

He watches her pick things out of her ‘Beatrix Potter’ tote bag. A couple of books - romance novels. A box of Mallomar cookies. And some of her favourite camomile tea in a blue daisy tin. He was observant - he knew the flavour of the damn tea that was in damn that worn old blue tin with the hand painted daisies on all four sides.

 

Once again, when it comes to Evie, he’s not sure what he feels. And that is entirely new and foreign for him. He feels... that strange blend of calm, mixed with something, curious. Something that settles him. As opposed to something that got his inner animal stirring. Whatever it is - he likes it.

 

He steps forwards and hooks a hand around her waist. Leans in and kisses her temple.

 

“I got some work to do for a while. I’ll be in my study. The house is all yours, Kitten.” He explains lightly. He nuzzles his lips into her forehead. Savouring her for a second. Ultimately feeling glad that she was here. Glad that she was glad with this place. Even if he wasn’t.

 

Then she truly surprises him. “Can I come sit with you? Just to be near? Won’t distract you. I promise. Just like being close to you...” she shrugs. “You don’t have to _talk_ or anything....” She adds. “I’ve got my books to be getting on with.” She explains sweetly.

 

Kylo’s looking confused. “You wanna be, in my office _with_ me?” He affirms. The others never used to give a flying fuck what he got up too. So long as he bought them in the newest Versace dress to wear. They couldn’t care less what he got up too.

 

She nods. “I can stay out here if I’m gonna be getting under your feet... the   _last_ thing I want to be is a nuisance.” She offers. Jerking a thumb towards the open plan space of the living room.

 

The living room that was one of the most expensively furnished areas of the house. Hermes cushions on the gigantic sofa. TV the size of the ten foot by six wall. Dolce cashmere blankets to drape over cold knees. An open fireplace to keep it toasty and every single comfort a person could ask for.

 

And yet- she’d rather be on the sofa in his office. Cause atleast then she gets to be near him. Watch him work. Watch him be brilliant at what he does.

 

How could he say no - he _couldn’t_. Not to her sweet hopeful face.

 

“Sure, Kitten.” He answers. Stroking a thumb along her cheekbone. Answering her request gladly. How many people fucking volunteered to be around him? Not that many he could guarantee.

 

“I’ll make some tea.” She answers. Her solution to most things. Boredom. Bad day. Hungry. Sad. Tea was always the first step of the answer.

 

“Coffee?” She asks him kindly. Out of sheer politeness. She’d brave his expensive Italian stallion of a coffee machine if he wanted one.

 

“Why not. A very pretty lady and her pussy kept me up all night.” He smirks. She blushes and bites her lip.

 

“Coffee coming up.” She smiles. He took it black, aswell as teeth-achingly hot and strong. Cause of _course_ he did.

 

He cuffs the sleeves of his midnight ink sweater. And strolls proudly off to his study. She watched him go. He looked effortlessly comfortable in his jumper and lounge pants. Shuffling around his warm tiled floor in his socks. He looks comfy. He looks at home here.

 

Leaving her in the kitchen, she boils the kettle for her jasmine tea. And comes to peaceful terms with his temperamental coffee maker. She eventually gets the hang of it, pouring him a hot strong mug full of inky black brew. Her white tea is somewhat easier. She bobs the teabag around in the steaming hot water til the blend starts the darken and golden-yellow colours the water.

 

She carries his coffee through. Bumping the study door open with a hip. He was already at his desk, laptop open, plans pulled up. Hugo Boss glasses resting on that nose she loves to kiss. His phone is at his ear, rich voice sternly talking to someone on the other end. Issuing orders. A silver mechanical pencil already poised up against the huge grey slab of the plans pinned to his drawing board. His big tattooed hand holding the shiny silver thing so gently.

 

She’d seen him be violent, and destroy so many things with those big, brute, baseball sized mitts of his. Oft she tended to forget in those strong hands also lay dormant, his skilful power to create too. A power to build and design, rather than to decimate.

 

She’d caught a good peek of his office the other day. Without him in it. And this was vastly different.

 

When he was here, the room seemed smaller. But infinitely more _alive_.

 

Almost literally. His cologne ebbed on the air. His presence demanded every scrap of her attention. Or maybe it’s just her silly flighty brain that’s so in love with him, being near him did phenomenal things to her. She’d also seen the other day how neatly he’d kept his expensive things. The Mont Blanc pens. The filled shelf of used up Moleskine notebooks. The organised tray of silver mechanical pencils - most probably made with _real_ silver. Nothing but the best of the best, here.

 

She smiles, softly placing his coffee down on the desk near him. Careful not to get a coffee ring-stain on any of his neat plans. She smiles meagrely back at him as his curling smirk starts to tip the corner of his mouth up. She knew that was her inaudible Thankyou.

 

She goes back out to fetch her tea, her glasses, and a book. Three minutes later, she comes shuffling back in, in her slippers. Not knowing Kylo’s watching her as he’s on the phone, in the big glass reflection of the window before him.

 

She’s in that ratty grey cardigan again. The one that was too big. Bobbled with years of age, patched at one elbow. The sleeves ended well beyond her knuckles, and all the times he’s torn it off her, or been near her in it, he _knows_ the scent of it would drown him if he got close. The homely smell of her. Of warm sunshine, and wool, and geranium perfume. Mixed with her honeysuckle washing powder that smacked him clean in the nose. Her clothes always scented so clean and bright.

 

She’s got those cute round frames on her face. Old slippers on her socked feet. Those too bobbled and too big. She’s wearing black yoga pants that had seen better days, and a blue button down that was polka dotted with little navy hearts all over. His Harry Winstone necklace back on her - _bruised_ \- neck where it belongs. She kicks off the slippers. Heaps them on the floor. Stands down her steaming tea. He could smell how sweetly fragranced it is from across the room.

 

She sinks down into the plush love-seat adjacent to his desk. The sofa cushions swallowed her up with a soft _poof_ sound. She’s hemmed in with fat cushions, and drags a cashmere blanket onto her knees. Folding her legs and feet to one side. Making no noises save for the rustling of her clothes. She lumps a heavy paperback open in her hands- and just... _reads_.

 

Quiet as a mouse.

 

Contented for all the world, to be near him. To sit in silence, devour her book. And not speak. Just happy to be close.

 

Kylo’s staring - he can’t help it. He knows he’s staring, yet, he can’t look away. She’s just _sat_ there.

 

Every now and then she smiles at a funny passage, or sentence, or character in her book. She sips her tea. He watches it fog up her glasses. She makes an odd ‘ _tsk_ ’ noise of annoyance and wipes the lenses clean with her too big sleeve.

 

Kylo hasn’t listened to any of his head designers words down the phone for atleast five minutes. He’s too busy watching Evie sip tea, and a teasing pink little kitten-lick at her fingertip to turn a sticky page over.

 

He wants to go over there and kiss her for some odd reason. Knowing he’ll find that sweet tea on her lips. Find the smell of ancient musty old books and paper on her fingers. She always smelled like a bookshop and a vase of fresh cut flowers dotted with rain.

 

He can’t help but compare her - once again. To the women who’ve come before. None of them had been patient, or nice, like her. They got bored with him working as much as he did. Only they got immature and pathetic about it.

 

One of them had tried a very feminine way of luring him out to play. Shoving her obscene double-d’s in his face. Playing with his shirt collar, whining how she was ‘ _so bored’_ and wanted something to play with. Then proceeded to nibble at his ear and try shoving her hand down his trousers. He fucked her purely because he was annoyed and wanted to outlet that deserved _fucking_ tension on her.

 

Another one got so tired of his concentrating on his workload, she got bitchy at him, and invited her spandex gym bunny friends over for a pool-party. She got stupidly wasted - on drink and blow. And had outrageous trashy music thumping annoyingly away outside, as her ditsy bleach-blonde friends drank all his stores of champagne. That day ended with her high as a kite, and them having a screeching row in his kitchen after she partied too hard and broke his study window with a chair.

 

With Kitten? _None_ of that.

 

No pining pleas for sex. No immature drunk fights. No breaking. No damage. No getting tits shoved in his face when he’s just trying to do work. She just sits, reads, and is happily in her own little bubble of a world, that she’s more than pleased to set down near and cohabitate somewhere near his own.

 

Here he thought his association with her would be like the others- that he’d be yearning for a bigger sphere of personal space. Sickened with bitchy childish attitudes. And wanting to roll his eyes every time they ask for his credit card for some materialistic designer purpose. Mostly for dinners or dresses. Or both.

 

There’s _none_ of that. And though that was the style of things he was used too - he can’t deny that she, that all of this, is an easy and refreshing change.

 

It’s peaceful. He’s finally found some _fucking_ peace and quiet. And it’s pretty source is sat behind him. Skimming through a Julia Quinn and laughing at its stubborn silly protagonist.

 

He can hear birds chittering in the trees. The wind hissing on the leaves. Hitting the glass panel of the window. The sound softened by its thickness. He can hear when she turns a page. How long until he hears that paper skim, being leafed over again. She was a quick reader.

 

He slowly sinks back into his phonecall when they ask for his input. He agrees. As to what he’s agreeing to, he has no clue. But he doesn’t care. His colleague seems pleased. And signs off the call happy.

 

He puts the phone down and reaches for his coffee. He sips it, listening to the wind outside shatter and break against the stoic glass. The steam tickles his face. Heat pinks his cheeks. The aroma creeping up his nose as the sharp, dark taste bursts bitter across his palate.

 

He sets it down, pulling up another set of plans on his laptop. Nudging his glasses back up his nose, he runs a hand through his wavy hair, and starts sketching.

 

The soft scratch of pencil meeting paper makes Evie look up. She’s oddly excited watching Kylo draw at his board. Every stroke of his big hand, neat and measured. Every mark as precise as the clinical mind it comes from. It’s like seeing a wild creature go about normality in its natural habitat. She doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t want to be distracting. Doesn’t want to spook him.

 

She isn’t - but she is the _biggest_ distraction ever. Elephant in the room. Cause Kylo can’t ignore her now that she’s there. Being _her_.

 

_There. There. There._

His mind is distracted. But for once, in _the_ nicest way he can ever remember. He’s the one who breaks the silence.

 

“What are you reading?” He seeks. After he hears her titter laughter again. Curious dark voice deeper than the Marianna Trench.

 

“Julia Quinn.” She answers with a smile. Always with a smile. He knows the warmness of that smile. He can hear it on her voice.

 

“Brighter Than The Sun.” She proclaims proud in a sappy tone. He rolls his eyes. But he’s smiling.

 

“The opening page is the hero falling out of a tree onto the heroine.” She adds.

 

Kylo twists to face her. Swivelling around on his seat. Eyeing her through his glasses. She hadn’t a care in the world right now. She had everything she could ever want. He wanted to give her _more_. She so wholly, richly deserved it.

 

He quirks a brow up at her choice of reading material. She defends herself.

 

“I have unapologeticly mushy taste in literature.” She says. “And Julia Quinn is a witty writer. Her characters _always_ make me smile. I’ve read this one, around ten thousand times.” She admits. Her guilty secret ousted.

 

She was an unashamed glutton of romantic stories. A devourer or witty rom-com proses.

 

“Let me guess. Dashing dark unattainable prince falls for fiery, obstinate princess?” Kylo asks with humour edging his usually dry tone. Turning back to his board.

 

Evie loves seeing his smile. Even if it is at her soppy tastes in romance novels. She loved how his face crinkles differently. His eyes and dimples creases. Shows off his sharp white smile. Usually his brow was set in a furrow, a glower, or a glare. It was a welcome change seeing this big man smile. Knowing she caused it gives her a rich jolt of happy to her tummy. Warms up her fuzzy pathetic heart.

 

“ _No_ , actually. But this one has a terribly opportune marriage of convenience. It’s wonderful.” She coos happily. Clutching it to her heart excitedly. As if her organ was happily fused into its pages. She was sure it semi-was, to this paperback. She loves it _so_ much.

 

Kylo shakes his head at her. Back to his board. Drawing now. But he hasn’t stopped smiling.

 

“I’ll bite. What kinds of books take your fancy?” She asks gently.

 

He makes a non-committal sound. “I don’t read much.” He answers simply.

 

She smiles. He hears her book slam gently closed. Her blanket rustles.

 

“I may have to go out on a limb here, Kylo Ren, and call you a _liar_.” She teases carefully. No doubt speculating to some of the books that _filled_ the room they were sat in. And all the bookshelves dotted elsewhere.

 

“Architecture books interest you, don’t they?” She seeks.

 

Again, he makes an agreeable sort of a sound. “It’s work. Seemed to be the only thing I was ever really any _good_ at doing. I’ve never had the imagination to enjoy fictional books.” He answers.

 

She reflects how he probably had that thought hammered into his skin as a kid. One of his scars could’ve told her that story. Drunken bellowing shouts of how he’d never amount to anything. She sighs gently with pain for him.

 

“Well. I think you’re quite splendid at your job. And being a CEO of your own company with a sky high net worth, at thirty, I think, proves that you’re more than just ‘ _good_ ’ at your job.” She tells.

 

He says nothing. He just draws. He lets her honey-soft words melt into his back and roll off his scars and his ink blue cashmere jumper.

 

“Plus I’ve read some of those books...” she pipes up.

 

“ _Oh_?” Kylo seeks. Soft scritches still coming off the paper.

 

“I read a few of them when I stayed here when you were in Switzerland.” She offers. He’s quiet again.

 

“I loved the Barcelona property you did six years ago. That one was my absolute favourite.” She comments. His hand stops on his page.

 

Paper creaks. A page rustles. And she’s got her nose in her book again. Happy to go back to silence. Happy to talk - happy to not talk. He smiles again.

 

“What drew you to that one?” He asks. He could barely remember that property now. But he was wanting to know what she’d found in it that she liked.

 

“White. Mid century. Up in the hills near Montbau.” She explains.

 

“I liked how you designed the house with the garden almost central. That big wall of windows surrounding the inside of it. Made the most of the courtyard garden with all the trees. I thought it was very beautifully done.” She says.

 

Kylo smudges away a small errant line with an eraser.

 

“You’d like Barcelona. The Gothic quarter has some of the most amazing old-modernist windows and doorways you’ll ever see. Plus the Sagrada Família.” He says. “Catalan culture. Mostly all Antoni Gaudi of course. Architecturally speaking, he and his work _owns_ most of that city.” He tells.

 

She loves how his passion for his work, and it’s associations, just spills thick and sleek off his tongue. Like wine she can get drunk on.

 

She curls up with her tea and admires him talking and being open. Her legs crossed in her lap. A warm mug of tea cradled in her hands. Cosy under a blanket with his rich voice lulling at her softly. There’s nowhere else she’d rather be right now. Not for all the world.

 

“I’ve never been to Spain. I’d be stuck trying to pick which bit to go and see.” She explains.

 

“For the city? Madrid. For the countryside... always gotta be Catalonia.” He answers.

 

“You’re quite the well traveled man.” She compliments. He was a regular guide book of knowledge.

 

His smirk tips up again. “Gotta be, when in my line of work. I don’t think there’s a structural landmark on this Earth I haven’t seen.” He informs.

 

She’s envious. Here’s this big bodied, lion sized, voracious appetite of a man whose been and seen and done everything. Had this big, juicy life packed with money, jet-setting. Crammed with colour, and flavours. Exotic lands and wonderful foreign cities. And sights she’s only dreamt of from the reaches of her tattered little house. Living her easy-harmless life.

 

She hopes he knows how lucky he is to have seen all that. She’s envious. His rich adventures make her feel all the more dull.

 

“I’d love to travel. The last vacation I took was with Flo to Martha’s Vineyard to go to a knitting fair.” She says glumly.

 

_Maybe I’ll take you away, sometime_. He thinks. He doesn’t say it. Not yet. He can’t just yet.

 

“Big world out there, Kitten. Gotta start off small.” He teases.

 

“Teeny tiny, in my case.” She adds.

 

His smirk tips up again. Curling.

 

“You’re accomplished at other things, in other ways, Kitten.” He lets her know. He doesn’t turn around to pay it to her. But compliment from him stops her short. She smiles and blushes into her sip of tea.

 

She cuddles the pillow she’s sloped on her lap, closer. Sunshine from the window across from him tickled at her socked feet. She watches him hunched over his board. Drawing. That wide pair of big muscled shoulders stretching his jumper. She’s impossibly enchanted with how domesticated he looks right now.

 

She goes back to her book. And sure enough, a lot of time passes as they keep each other in quiet company. Nothing but the soft sounds of him sketching. And her turning over her book pages. She’s just passed chapter 14, but having read 220 pages of her novel, she wants something, less turbulent. And it was just reaching the part in the plot where hero and heroine were sailing towards a dangerous prejudiced misunderstanding on both their behalf’s.

 

Wanting a different kind of reading. She reaches forwards and plucks one of his thickly bound architecture books from its orderly stack on the coffee table. The spine of it cracks as she opens it in her lap.

 

Again, Kylo watches her reflections movement from the glass in front of him. She’s got one of his portfolio design books in his lap.

 

He flips his wrist to look at his watch. They’d been here now for three and a half hours. It’s flown him by. This cosy domestic afternoon.

 

When he looked out across the drive and the garden, he could see that particular shade of sunlight that cold only belong to a late afternoon, blossoming into early evening. The light facing them both had changed too. Now it’s an angular chunk dividing into the ceiling and the far end of his study. Emblazoned in rusty-gold. Warm.

 

He can’t remember the last time this house felt warm to him - possibly never. But with her here, he just can’t escape it. That’s _just_ what he feels.

 

Slightly more pleased with his drawing than he was two hours ago, he sets his pencil down with a sharp clack and rubs his eyes. He’s gone through all his emails. Straightened out a few loose ends with his business. Got everything completed that he needed to get done. He stretches out his back, his neck and spine adjusting, clicking into place.

 

He rolls his shoulders, and sits back. Looking with veiled expression at his drawing. He learnt if he hunched over one piece of work for too long. He’d start to go mad. Fixing it over and over until nothing remained of the original plans. Best to draw himself out of work for a while. His seat doesn’t make a sound as he swivels around and faces Kitten for the first time in three hours.

 

How cosy she looks - makes his shard of frosty flint that he had for a heart start to crack. Thawing.

 

She looks entirely too small and cute on his office couch. Supported by plump pillows. Her knees swaddled in a blanket. She’s shuffled to one side. Resting one elbow on the arm as she flips through a big book with the other. Transfixed. She doesn’t even realise he’s looking at her.

 

She’s discarded her book. And she’s flicking through _his_. One of the portfolio ones he did for Maddox & Haig.

 

“What are you reading that old thing for?” He asks. Rich voice sounding so large and strangling the previously soft silence.

 

He rises to a stand and pads across to her. The sofa sinks down where he lowers his heavy body right next to hers. She twists her head around and smiles at him. He leans closer, slipping one bulky muscled arm behind her head, and along her shoulder. Long legs kicked out in front of him. She likes how the scent of him is mingled up cologne and warm cashmere that pours off his hot skin.

 

She shuffled into the safe port of his body and shows him the page she’s on. A couple of houses he did in LA a few years back. Lodged up on Santa Monica. Flirting with Bel Air territory.

 

“I like these three...” She points out. They were all low, narrow houses. One storey. But exquisitely set out across the landscape. A first class pool and gardens growing up around the house as if it were all one piece. The glass and stone edifice looked completely natural where it sat. Happily ensconced in its surroundings. It looked like a mid-century dream come to life. Very clean sleek lines. No fuss. Minimal grey colour. Very _him_.

 

“Houses on hills are easy. The light gets everywhere. Lots of it to play with. Easy to make the use of. I relish a challenge, for a change, when it comes to trickier houses. More complex plots.” He tells her. “I like innovating. Something my old boss used to loathe about the way I design.”

 

“I didn’t think you were an LA sort.” She smiles.

 

“Trust me. I’m _not_.” He intones grumpily. “I’ve never hated a client more. His ditsy trophy wife kept coming back with complaints and demands. I think he’d moved onto the _next_ blonde wife, wife number four, by the time we finished the build.”

 

“Well. Some people have no taste.” She dismisses, trying to perk him up a bit. She turns the page and smiles at the even more gorgeous building in front of her. Almost Deco this time. And in Los Feliz. A much more eclectic, less ritzy part of LA. No stench of Bel Air country club about its surroundings.

 

The garden was neutral olive bay green. And the house was stunning white. And there were curves of glass, where his favoured clean angles were put aside. One window curved to form the whole lower floor. Railings and finishing touches of chunky lines all echoed back to the glamour and glitz of the 1920s. She loved Deco. She was raised on 20s films. Books, and endless books about art nouveau and modernism. Food of her childhood.

 

“I like these touches too. It’s still _you_. But it’s... different. Transcendent.” She beams.

 

“Mmm.” He confirms. Looking across at her. Watching how she devoured the book with the same voracious appetite she uses to leaf through her soppy novels. She wasn’t faking it either. He could read people. He can tell when people lie to him.

 

She isn’t. Not judging by that glimmer in her blue eyes.

 

“They wanted my style but a historic touch folded in. The curved glass windows on the first floor are one of the best features. Cost $2 million each to have them tailored to the house.” He tells.

 

“Worth every penny. They’re great.” She tells him. Admiring the interiors too. They kept it simple. And stuffed with dark walnut 30’s furniture. It was a little drab for her, but the time period it echoed so superbly was divine.

 

She flicks through more pages. Asking questions. Pointing to certain pieces and asking how he thought of that. There was a lot of skill. He cleverly hid little tricks of the houses in plain sight. Quirks. Or just things or features he wanted to try out. It was mesmerising. They’ve sat there for another hour just talking through his book.

 

Evie presses shut the amazing last page. Snapping it shut cover to cover. And twists to face him on the loveseat. Angling into his body. His arm was still across her shoulder, big hand stroking patterns on the back of her neck. Twirling a big finger around a lock of her twisted up hair. Brushing against a love-bite from last night that made gooseflesh prickle up.

 

Kylo’s just watching his finger wrap her silky hair around it. Just watching her, with warm interest. She’ll fall asleep if he keeps up those gentle stroking touches.

 

She likes this calm man; the one she’d seen and been with last night was a jagged refraction of the darker side of his personality. It was what he could turn into when he raged; and make no mistake, it was terrifying.

 

She understood last night wasn’t all entirely about her. Or her forced infidelity with Ben. Just that Kylo had taken the brunt of Ben’s actions for most his life. Last night was him showing the bake sale incident was the straw that broke the camels back. So to speak.

 

He could’ve gone easier on her, that’s no secret. But he had to speak to Ben in a way his ASPD would understand. That required a little more harsh force than usual. To Kylo’s truly horrific mind, they both got off lightly. Especially Ben. He wanted to dismember the smug prick for what he did to Evie. He’d got blood in revenge. Only he wanted more.

 

But that ugly part of him is settled now. Things are set fair. His kittens here in his lap. And his twin is- god only knows where after having learned his lesson. They both have. Evie would be sore from him for a week, no doubt. He hadn’t held anything back last night.

 

He tenderly strokes her neck and watches as she curls up into him. Just savouring the quiet.

 

“I love how peaceful it is up here.” She sighs finally. Listening to the way the breeze broke and shattered across the glass. Barely louder than a whisper. It felt like nothing could touch them here. The sun winks in agreement off the glass. Stepping through the door; all her worries melted away. Because it was just the two of them. That was perfection. _Bliss_.

 

Kylo watches her for a moment. Relieved that he’s found his peace. His peace smells like geraniums and looks terribly cute all warm and snug against his chest.

 

“You hungry? We can go to the market. Grab something for dinner.” He asks. There’s probably not much by way of food in his fridge. He forgot to tell the housekeeper to stock up this week.

 

Her stomach gurgles to life with the mention of food. Her smile leaps up. She curls an arm across his hard stomach and kisses his woollen blue shoulder. Cologne and cashmere.

 

“I’ll cook. What are you in the mood for?” She asks eagerly. He thinks. His big fingers stroking along her tiny little hand. Mapping out each of her small elegant fingers.

 

“Something that pairs well with a bottle of red 2009 Château Latour.” He teases.

 

She plucks a recipe off the top of her head Something comforting. Cosy. To match the mood of the day.

 

“Pork chops and potatoes?” She smiles in question.

 

He smiles lightly down at her. A shattered memory ricocheting back in his head. Being a kid, him and Ben inhaling that exact same meal off a china rose plate in his gran’s house. Home cooked hot food was not a luxury provided for them in their household.

 

She made them each have a glass of milk on the side. Cause ‘ _small boys need strong bones.’_ Kylo also recalls how he ate that meal and she gave him seconds. Loaded his plate up. Because the night before their Dad had drunk a skinful, just because he could, and set after their Mom, for no other reason than the fact the sun rose in the east, and set in the west. He picked a fight. And had a nasty point to prove.

 

After half an hour of trying to muffle out the cries from his bedroom. Kylo bravely intervened, defending their mom. And got beaten for it. He got _badly_ beaten for it. Scraped knuckles, cracked nose, black eye, two broken ribs and a fractured wrist. He was only 11. When his dad stormed off out again. Their mom gathered them up and dropped them at Grandmas house. The boys were told to go upstairs, kylo had watched between the banisters as his battered bruised mom had collapsed into a teary heap on the kitchen table and wailed out her pain. Gran tried to soothe her as best she could. He never knew a parent could cry so much.

 

Now he knows why he remembers that meal- because he could barely taste anything of it. His jaw hurt to chew his food. He kept wiping blood off his forehead from under the band aid Gran had taped there. He couldn’t understand why she kept turning away, dabbing away tears as she plated them up more food.

 

Answering Evie’s question. Kylo kisses her temple and smiles an affirmative. No good ever came from dredging up the miserable sludge that was his childhood.

 

“Sounds delicious. I’ll drive.” He tells succinctly. Heaving himself up, pulling her with him. She stretched as she comes to a stand.

 

“ _Ok_. But I’m buying the wine.” She tries to bargain.

 

“You are most certainly _not_.” He tells her. Striding away to find his shoes.

 

“Why not?” She calls after him. “I’m a guest.” She walks out the study and slips on her old sneakers. They were only going to the market after all. No need to truss up all fancy.

 

Kylo comes back in. Gently grips her hand and tugs her with him. She follows. He leads her to the kitchen, and off a little side door. When he slides open the huge glass panelled door, she shuts up very swiftly.

 

It appears he had a wine bodega. Like the ones in Spanish restaurants. A huge glass square room lined floor to ceiling with racks, all filled with glass bottles of wine. Red. Pink. White. Champagne. It was all here. He had more Reds than anything else. Giving her a unique clue as to his preferred flavour.

 

“Stocks were admittedly low after my idiot Twin ‘house-sat’ for me when I was in prison.” He grumps. Sliding the door shut after plucking a bottle of gleaming red with a posh white label down off the highest shelf.

 

Evie makes a face. “I can only imagine.” She winces in humour.

 

“Pure carnage. Every room littered with panties and half smoked blunts. And I had _two_ bottles of vintage white left in here.” He growls. Standing the wine on the kitchen counter.

 

Evie glances at said counter somewhat warily.

 

“Don’t worry Kitten. I had the kitchen deep cleaned. Every bed and mattress thrown out. And I replaced every flat surface that isn’t fixed down.” He answers.

 

“I would’ve gone the whole hog and had the place _fumigated_.” She smiles.

 

“Me too. With mustard gas.” He tells lowly. Unimpressed. She laughs. And hair tucks. And he’s watching her again. Unable to help it.

 

“Some bleach and bucket of hot soapy water can work wonders.” She says.

 

One of Kylo’s eyebrow quirks up.

 

“No man made cleaning agent, and no amount of elbow grease can cope with the wake of _filth_ my brother leaves behind him. I found a blow up sex doll floating around in my pool.” He tells.

 

She sniggers with her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny.” She laughs.

 

Kylo’s smiling too.

 

“Can’t be all _that_ bad.” She says in hope.

 

“He stashed his coke and his pot in my office desk drawer.” Kylo adds. “And a couple of other items in my desk too. Though last time I checked I don’t wear lacy pink g-strings either.”

 

Evie’s trying so hard not to laugh. It couldn’t have been nice seeing his home defiled by the occupants of the playboy bunny mansion.

 

“Ok. Well. You know everything can be rectified. Splash around some paint. New furniture. A little gasoline maybe...” She adds.

 

“Light a match. Good as new.” He says. They walk back through to the front door, he scoops up his keys and his jacket. He switches on his elite alarm system and they walk out to the Aston under a golden spread of afternoon sun.

 

He could get awfully used to this- he drives. She chatters a little. But doesn’t seek to unnecessarily fill the silence. He likes that too. Likes being able to hear his own thoughts sometimes.

 

Something smooth and old with a full jazz band and a smoky voiced songstress plays on the radio. Kylo watches how her hair changes colour when the sun blazes through it.

 

They get to the market and park up. His end of town decidedly more high class than her own. Usually he ordered everything to be delivered. His PA made sure to be here to oversee all his little errands. But there’s something nice about doing it himself - especially with her. She hogs the basket. Also sneaks in cookies when he wasn’t looking. She knew about his secret sweet tooth.

 

His local market was foodie heaven for her. She could’ve spent hours among the posh stocked shelves, planning a dinner to blow his socks off. But she’s hankering after simple fare tonight. Pork chops with potatoes and onions. She asks if he has a casserole pot. He answers that he probably does.

 

They zip through the check out, and he won’t hear of her carrying bags. He hauled their brown paper bagged items up and carries them to the car. They settled on a huge tub of silky raspberry gelato for dessert. He drives home quick so their ice cream doesn’t melt. They get back, and she unpacks. He pours them both wine.

 

He does have some more work to get ahead of, and she waves him off. Saying she’d cook for them. And he can be free to finish up. He kisses her real slow and deep for that. They both taste of smooth velvet red wine. It’s indulgent and he _couldn’t_ be more thankful that she’s exactly the way she is.

 

He can’t think that he’s ever had someone this domestic to co-exist with. The most he’s done with girls is take them out to dinner - the ones he could stand for more than an hour. Then it was back to his place, an hour or less of sex. And then he’d be burning the midnight oil whilst they did whatever the fuck they got up to when he wasn’t around. He didn’t care. They went off clubbing at one in the morning. Or went to go get their nails done, and he didn’t care.

 

Evie he could stand being around - all day. All night. She wasn’t suffocating him. Or nauseating to be with. She didn’t care about the colour of her acrylic nails being wrong. Or the exact shade of her highlights. She thought more about what she put into her head, rather than what she could paint onto it. She cared about the things that were important. Kylo didn’t realise until that very moment how good she is to be around. His calm mood and even temper are letting him know it.

 

She’s one of the best people he’s ever come across. She wasn’t tainted. Or shitty tempered. Or materialistic. She hasn’t had an ugly horrific life. And Kylo decides he’d like _more o_ f this.

 

Even if it was just the fact that her life of kindness and generosity amazed him - he was sticking with her. He’s had enough of people who were wrong for him. Maybe now he’s found what feels right - after all these years.

 

He doesn’t know why he has this epiphany as he watches her scrub potatoes and tie on an apron that was far too big for her. But he _does_.

 

_Oh, how_ he does. He does and he can’t stop it.

 

It’s an ache in the pit of his stomach. He’ll ignore it for now. And pretend it isn’t what he suspects it might be. He _can’t_ feel that. He’s incapable. It’s impossible. If anyone had a more skewed, fucked up version of what love can be, and feel like, it’s him. He’s had enough pain coming from people who are supposed to love him. He’ll have _no_ more.

 

But her, his _sweet Kitten. Her_ , he will have. And gladly cherish. Her with her good big heart, that was worth ten of everyone else he knew.

 

He wants her goodness. He wants the calm she always gives him.

 

He stands his wine down and presses a kiss to the back of her head. Embracing her from behind as she stood at the sink, washing veggies. He blinks. Inhaled her hair. And kisses a breathy, hushed Thank-you into her scalp. Sniffing the essence of her lavender shampoo. He lingers for a second. Then he’s off to his study. Almost brusquely forcing a snippet of affection onto her. Crushing her with it.

 

She smiles. Watching him go. Shaking her head as she peels things, chops, sautés and preps everything, a tad frightened by his ridiculously expensive kitchen-wear. He had a Damascus knife set. One knifes value was over $600. She uses it gently for fear of hurting it.

 

She piles everything into the casserole pot and sets it to sizzle and bake in the oven. Of which there were five. He had a kitchen and equipment that most gourmet chefs would _envy_. She feels privileged to cook in it. With dinner taken care of, she sets the table for two.

 

Eventually she rummages until she comes across placemats. She sets the table and even turns up a modern candelabra and tall ivory candles. She lights them and pours two fresh glasses of wine into his masterpiece triangular crystal wine glasses. She puts one of the fresh flowers from the jar on the table in a little vase she came across too. An elegant dinner set for two.

 

He surfaces from his study a while later, watching her plate up their dinner. He smirks a little. Watching her from down the hallway. His angel. Enshrined in light. He swore he could see her halo shining. She wipes specs of gravy off the plate rims and beams up when she catches sight of him skulking in the doorway.

 

She carries the plates to the table and sets them neatly down. She really can make herself at home anywhere. _Even_ if she was using one of his priceless whiskey glasses to hold a flower in.

 

He comes to the table, standing his empty glass down by the sink. “Looks delicious.” He purrs at her. Sucking a stay glob of sauce off her hand where she’d served it. She smiles and nods for them to sit and eat before it got cold. They do. And it’s delightful.

 

They talk. They talk in ways they can’t if sex got in the way. Taking time away from fucking each other crazy does them the world of good. He’s funny - when he wants to be. He makes her laugh and they sink an entire bottle of that Latour before they even realise it. She’s figured out his home music system. All the speakers dotted everywhere, wired into the house. She puts something light but melodic on. Something with a lady with a soulful voice, singing about something tragic.

 

She feeds him all the leftovers. She nibbles at a carrot or potato or two; but mostly she gives it to him. Contented.

 

Stuffed full of food and wine. They collapse together, as a heap, onto his big huge couch. There’s a nip in the air now night has fallen. The kind that foretold autumn was coming in soon, to wreck those light long summer nights they’ve enjoyed.

 

He clicks a remote button, the fire bursts into life in the huge sleek hearth and they cosy down in front of a Nancy Meyers Christmas themed film that just happens to be on.

 

They chatter a bit more. About nothing of consequence. Evie pulls the blanket up over herself. And snuggles. Amazingly, he snuggles her right back. Hand stroking her shoulder. After ten minutes he looks down and sees that she’s out of it. Soundly asleep. Too much wine. And too much pounding hard sex last night.

 

He peers down at her. Strokes a brute calloused finger down one of her soft cheeks.

 

“ _Kitten?”_ He asks. Black eyes looking a little lighter as he gazes warmly at her. In this light they almost diluted to hickory brown. Full of his calm warmth, and gratefulness for her.

 

A soft breathy mumble is his reply.

 

“Bedtime.” He concludes to her. Even though she can’t hear him.

 

He switches off the movie. He wasn’t paying attention anyway. He’s more taken with the way she gently caressed patterns into his sweater-clad stomach.

 

He’d get up early and clear away dinner. She did cook after all. He leaves the fire to burn out. Cloaking the pair of them in half ochre, half darkness.

 

He stands and levies two hands under her little body. He heaved her up, blanket and all. She flops into him. He carries her up to bed. She was truly out of it.

 

He takes her upstairs, past his glass bedroom wall, full up of the view of trees and navy backed stars. He puts her gently on the bed and slips some of her things off. She spreads out like a little, limp, pale starfish on his colossal white bed.

 

He’s more used to undressing her when she’s awake. He wrangles off her socks. Leggings. Bra. And shirt. Leaving her in her panties. He tucks one of his blue dress shirts around her. Cuffs the sleeves and buttons it up just so. It was way too big on her. But he knew how she likes that.

 

He speaks as he buttons it up for her. “You looked so cosy in my shirt last time. Baby. Before I _tore_ it off you.” He smirks. “It doesn’t matter.” He answers himself.

 

“I’d buy ten thousand more just to see you happy in them.” He smirks.

 

These were things he’d never say if she were awake. Leaning down he kisses her brow. She snuffles something at him. Cuddling into the pillow beside her. _His_ pillow.

 

He smiles. Drags the wool blanket off her, and drapes the duvet around her.

 

He pads to his bathroom and quickly goes through his nightly routine. Brush his hair back off his face. Splash of cold water. Clean teeth. Pat of cologne on his cheeks for bed. And he’s back. Seeing how she’s cuddled up to his side - he doesn’t mind.

 

He climbs in and gets comfy next to her. Sleep comes in an instant. He takes note of how his face feels odd as he nods off. It was because he realised he _smiles_ as she nuzzles into his neck.

 

She made him _smile_. He wants that.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did that treat your lovely eyes?


	32. Domesticity & Riches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Here I am again, at it with the fluff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the first time in his life - Kylo’s actually slept. And slept _damn_ well.

 

He hadn’t had a deep night of sleep like this since the first night he got out of prison. It wasn’t fitful, or shallow. He didn’t toss and turn. Didn’t want to get up and work in his office on new designs til dawn. Fuelled by caffeine and restlessness.

 

He slept hard and deep. Didn’t snooze. Sunk into a luxurious sleep and didn’t come out of it until his body felt that he needed too. Actually got some fucking rest for once in his life.

 

It was early morning. The sun was tickling blazing red-pink his closed eyes from where he forgot to shut his black Roman blinds in the bedroom last night. He swallows. His mouth sticking furry from wine last night and sour from his sleep. He peels his eyes open, blinking at his bedroom, shrouded in bright sunshine. The trees outside swayed on the wind. All in all, it looked a calm bright day out there. Powder blue sky ungoverned by cloud.

 

He curses. Because this is the first time he’s woken in his own bed to sunshine burning his eyelids. He’s never slept in before to an extent that the rising sun was able to touch him. He made a note to himself that the next bedroom will have a lesser wall of windows to help with that problem.

 

He’s on his side, arms and body curling into the pillow opposite his own. Hair tangled across too. Seeking across her side of the bed like some dark, light seeking plant vines. Curling across for her. His fingers stretch and wake up as he stretches, seeking for her little body that rolled away from him in the night.

 

Once more, warmed empty bedsheets greet his wandering palms. His dark eyes peek open again and search his crumpled white cotton bed. _No Kitten._

 

But it isn’t rage that overtook him. Rather it was an easy sort of carefree calm that swelled up instead. He wonders what she’s getting up to this morning. Blinking away his bleariness, he sits up, throws the covers to bloom off him, drifting on the air, crumpling down to the warm big bed by the time he was already out the room.

 

He leisurely steps down his stairs. Muscles and limbs clacking and striding to life. He feels stiff joints ease. He comes down the stairs and something ebbs across to him other than the usual lemon neroli scented air of his place. The smell of breakfast.

 

Coffee. Bacon. And eggs.

 

_Fuck_. He’s smiling more now than he’s ever done before in his life. More than he can ever remember. His bare feet heavily slap the tiles as he walks to the open plan kitchen to see the hive of activity happening there.

 

Which happens to be Evie still in his blue dress shirt. With a white flowery pair of pyjama bottoms on. The lace on the short thing’s frayed near the hem. A hole in the fabric of her right thigh. She had his big blue sleeves rolled up to her forearms. And her hair is messy. Bedhead. Sexy and cute all at once. It’s missed toffee-red tucked behind one ear as she prods a pan full of bacon with the spatula. Before flitting back across to his coffee machine.

 

It was a nice sight to wake up too. She smiles as she sees him awake. Sucking butter from the already spread toast off her hand.

 

“Morning.” She chirps brightly. “I’m so _sorry_. I had a little too much of that nice wine last night. I must’ve overslept.” She speaks as she plates up the sizzling contents of the two cast iron pans she had on the go.

 

She knows he’d never bark at her to make his breakfast for him like some 1950’s husband. She did it of her own violation to see her big man fed properly. Truly a southern comfort. Her being a feeder.

 

He sees soft scrambled eggs and rashers of bacon. Fried mushrooms and tomatoes. Her not-quite-full English breakfast, with a side of salty buttered toast. She whips back across, seemingly in a rush this morning. Kylo immediately grasps her concept.

 

She was up running around to make his breakfast ready for him, before he had to go off to work. She’s worried he’s late.

 

He comes closer. Smiling but silent. And cages her just as she turns around with a mug of coffee in hand for him. He takes it. But still crowds her into the counter with his big body. He smelt like distant faded notes of cologne. And cotton from his bedsheets. Cotton and hot skin. He was shirtless and radiating heat. _Too_ much heat. Always too much heat. Too much body. Always _so intense_ in every shape and form.

 

“I think I’ve finally mastered your coffee machine. We had a rocky start to our relationship but we _got_ there in the end.” She smiles cutely. He stands the coffee down and plants a firm, powerful kiss on her sweet lips. He loves it when she tastes like butter.

 

“ _Kitten_. I’m not going into work today. My day off. I am the boss after all...” He smiles, forehead presses to hers, fingers playing with one coiled tangle of her hair.

 

“Oh.” She sighs. “I thought you were gonna be late.” Her eyes sparkle when she does that. Smile tipping up at the sides. That and her cheeks blushed from the sheer loveliness of his _yummy_ kiss. Those lush lips of his are smiling down at her. Tinted a soft rosy-pink.

 

“Is that a _happy_ ‘oh?’” He asks. She slides her soft little hands up over his pecs. Feeling the cool of his nipple rings catch her palms. She loves the compact solid musculature of him underhand. She lets her hands rest either side the valley of his muscled sternum. Right between his pecs. This godlike body of hot skin and marble hard physique she never grows tired of being near.

 

“It’s a _very_ pleasantly surprised and happy ‘oh’” She answers. He swoops down and steals another buttery tasting kiss from her. She mumbles, sinking into his caresses. Her squeak lost on his dangerously addictive lips. His wet tongue tips in her mouth. Finding butter. Making her knees shudder. She had to anchor into him to press her quivering aroused body upright.

 

_He wanted today to be theirs._ _To belong to them._

 

Not the hectic tempo of his new office and colleagues.

 

“Breakfasts getting cold.” She points out as he pulls back to nuzzle his nose under her jaw. He couldn’t care any less. He grumbles a turned-on moan as he mouths against her hot neck.

 

“I guess we better eat then.” He sighs moodily. But humour was in his voice. He pulls back and sips his coffee. Dark eyes piercing her from over the brim of the mug. Blacker than the bitter brew he likes. She smiles. And takes their plates over to the table, watching his tatted torso as he walks. How his shoulder blades shifted.

 

She’s realising just how impossibly enamoured she is with this man, from his very dark head to his toes.

 

They sit at the table. Their respective mugs of hot drink steaming plainly on the early morning beam of sunlight that slanted onto where they sat. Twirled with dust mites too. They eagerly wolf down breakfast. As she’s now on peaceful terms with his coffee machine, she fetched him another cup. _And_ she washes up. Her halo keeps cropping up, he thinks to himself.

 

He thanks her with a languid kiss. Dark bitter coffee lingering on his lips.

 

“I’m gonna go grab a shower. I got one conference call to take at 9. Then maybe we can, go into town, or something?” He seeks. Stroking her waist under the crisp large swathe of his shirt. Though where she’s slept in it. It’s curved and softened to the shape of her body. Smells like her. Has moulded to her supple little shape.

 

He was already planning on taking her shopping later. Hence his slight hint of going into town. He’s seen her wear things often. Like that blue sundress. Or a certain t-shirt. He knows some of her things are threadbare. He’s been heavily involved with removing her clothing of late. He knows she’s a frugal person. She’s budgeted herself a certain amount for clothes every month for as long as she can remember.

 

A splurge for her consisted of maybe a couple of $10 sundresses from the modest boutique store in her small town. She paired them time and time again with cardigans. Or the same worn indigo jeans she had, with a somewhat nice blouse. He knows he’s contributed quite a lot to damning some of her clothes to ruin, panties and dresses, and so forth. He’d torn _plenty_ of those off her. And he intends to rectify his damages. She was too demure to ask.

 

Plus he wanted her dressed up in pretty things. Even though she already dresses up in pretty things. He wants her draped head to toe in nice, somewhat expensive clothes, because that’s his way of looking after her. Of letting her use some of his enormous riches that she never even _asked_ for.

 

That’s another thing that astounds him. She’s seen his work. She knows the calibre of his multi million house. She’s seen the $225k car he drives. Knows the myriad of designer labels that lurk in the collar all his priceless suits.

 

Again. Another thing about Evie that astounds him. She didn’t _care_ about the money. That wasn’t her motive for him.

 

She wouldn’t have cared even if he lived in a trailer park, drove a beat up old junkyard clunker, or even if he had a job that only made him $2 an hour. She’d still have loved him fiercely. Cause it’s _him_. She’s here to _love him_. Not lounge about in his privileges or bathe in and splurge away his piles of money.

 

Never even indicated that she wanted to touch into his wealth. She was more invested in his time and his company than in the hefty contents of his wallet.

 

He’d made up his mind to take her shopping today, the second he saw the hole in her pyjama shorts. She shouldn’t be wearing things with holes in. She was seeing him now - like it or not. He was stepping up to the plate. He wants to do something for her the only way he knew how. Throwing money at the problem she didn’t even realise _was_ a problem.

 

She smiles at his suggestion of going to town. “Sure. That’d be nice.” She smiles. Kissing his cheek.

 

“And I will have no arguments. _I’m_ doing the cooking tonight. It’s my turn.” He orders. She knows by now not to argue with _that_ tone of voice. The gleam that passes over his eyes is a truly stubborn one. She acquiesces to his request. Her hands grasp his.

 

“Whose your conference call with if I might ask?” She seeks.

 

“Some rich Sheikh from the Arab Emirates. Wants to discuss a possible deal for my commercial architecture team to design one of his new billion dollar hotels.” He smiles cunningly at her.

 

Evie swallows back her amazement. Focusing instead on how amazing he was. He never failed to be. She kisses his cheek.

 

“Go and be brilliant. Mr. Ren.” She urges. Cupping his face. “I’ll be out on the patio with a book, and a cup of tea.” She says brightly at him.

 

He looks warmly at her, kissing her temple, before he strides off for a shower and a suit for his call. Evie watches him go. He was a man of few words. But she’s getting used to his dark looks that said _far_ more than his sociopathic tongue ever did or had.

 

Kylo loves how she gave him space. The girls he used to know were always clingy and desperate. Getting in his way. Being immature and selfish. Then would get stroppy with him if he snapped at them for getting on his nerves. Truth was, he needed someone like Evie. Someone who, for once, didn’t put her selfishness and needs first. He likes how her caring touches shine through.

 

She didn’t coddle. Or smother him. She’s just gently letting herself into his home. And his life. She didn’t push. He loved that she didn’t _push_ him. Everyone else seemed to push him then be surprised at his biting back, after they usually nudged him too far.

 

He’s comfortable with her, he realises - as he steps in his gigantic steam shower - that their rhythm is getting comfortable. And whilst that thought had filled him with horror in the past. As he’s rubbing his luxury Frédéric Malle soap over his tattooed pecs and lathering it between his hands, just knowing she’s pottering around his kitchen getting used to the place, gives him a sense of... _gladness?_

 

That’s what is. He diagnoses it, as he lathers up his dark tresses with Aqua di Parma. Letting the sharp hot water beat off his shoulders as he washes it off. Smiling lightly to himself as he thinks about what suit he’ll wear. And smiling all the more when he thought about his kitten just downstairs. Feeling cosy in his house.

 

After his shower is done with, long hair pasted back, sleek like black silk on his head; he wraps a big white towel around his hips, and pads for his dressing room. Getting into his bedroom, he sees he disturbs her.

 

_Fucks sake_. Now she’s making the bed. _Their bed._

 

He lingers in the doorway for a long second. Drinking in the delectable view of that round little ass in her pyjamas. His smirk tugs and he’s damn sure his blood rushes immediately southwards. He looks at the back of her pale thighs. And tries not to think how they look with his spend leaking down them. Cause his brain remarks dirtily how he’s had her in that bent over position a fair few times-

 

It was _one_ of his favourite positions after all.

 

His big wide body behind her as he slams into her quivering cunt. Reminding him how he can pound the _life_ out of her. Her torso looked impossibly tiny before him when he does her from behind. Fucking her like an animal. Bending her over the bed. His strong inked hands clamped to her hips.

 

He makes himself known. Sidling past and pinching her ass as he goes. She squeaks a little, blushing, moving to the side to watch him shoot her a hungry look. Seductive and darkly scanning up and down her body. He assessed her like she was the tastiest morsel he could gobble up. That _look_ of his always sent chills of delight sparking through her. Made her feel ridiculously feminine, and got her flushing pink and flustered.

 

She smoothed out wrinkles in his pristine sheets. Watching him with a glowing smile, and eyes, as he treads to his closet. Noise of his feet lost on the thick rugs.

 

He settles for his deep black Canali three piece. Minus the waistcoat, with a clean bright white Burberry dress shirt. He opted for gleaming black Derby’s on his feet - even though they wouldn’t be seen. And his vintage rolex sat chunky and silver on his wrist. A pat of cologne on his cheeks and his wardrobe turns him into a debonair, darkly dashing man.

 

He was more than easy on the eyes, dressed up sharp in his work of art suit. One of the finest pieces of Italian tailoring ever known to man. He brushes his somewhat dry yet damp tresses back on his head. It’s drying in inky disarray around his ears. He watches his reflection in the mirror as he fixes his white cuffs.

 

There was no acting the confident part in his job. He was confident. And he’d blown obscene amounts of money after he got out of Prison - all on his wardrobe.

 

He hired one of the best stylists in the world. Bought them off as a personal dressing and style assistant. He emptied his wardrobe - threw it away. And gave his dresser a million dollar bonus to get his wardrobe up to current fashion. Had everything tailored to his, somewhat unique frame. Custom shoes, shirts, suits. He liked his expensive handmade touches.

 

He lived in, and on, his luxurious handmade touches.

 

He’d sent his dresser off to Milan last week to get in his new Fall wardrobe that would be just on the edge of the designers clothing rails. About to come into play. Kylo sent him there to snatch up the latest styles and brands. Told him to courier it all back when he’s done. He was expecting over coats, thick wool suits, and ridiculously, seemingly endless amount of priceless cashmere jumpers by the tonne. It didn’t hurt to keep up to date with the times, after all. It was a fucking welcome break from a starchy, itchy orange onesie.

 

He had to keep up appearances. What with being a newly instated CEO, he wanted to dress the part. He always had.

 

Now he knows when he walks in boardrooms to broker deals, meet with shareholders, or simply to meet business associates, he now knows with surety that he’ll be one of the best dressed men in the room. He’d look the part. He was the part. He _was_ one of the best. He’d earned that right.

 

When he thought back to what his childhood had been, oppressed by an alcoholic abusively-vile dad, largely ignored by a workaholic-weak mom, he can remember angrily feeling like he’d never amount to a thing, some days. His parents were almost always on the dirt poor side of things. Debt collectors and their landlord on the doormat each month, demanding payment. His dad drank away the money their mom earned. Drank away his own paltry wage packet too.

 

His old man being a steel worker wasn’t exactly bringing in huge bucks. And it did install in his already embittered parent, a useless, skewed, assertive sense of masculine pride and macho. He wanted his boys to take after him. Wanted them down the factory clocking in every day, 9 to 5, to fritter away their lives, like he had and like his old man had done before him, welding and joining, and doing ‘ _proper_ ’ man’s work. Scrounging his life away on some piss-poor miserable occupation at the mercy of some foreman.

 

Kylo’s creative foray into drawing, and architecture had never been on the cards.

 

Nor was Ben’s aptitude towards business and marketing.

 

They were both bright boys. Far brighter and more academically gifted and driven, than their father could _ever_ grasp. He wanted them in blue collar jobs, sweating and pouring blood-sweat-and-tears into their work. When he realised they weren’t continuing his proud working class hero legacy - he was sure to make his nasty opinion and abhorrence well known.

 

Kylo’s thought through enough times of the memory. He buttons his suit and casts away the returning recollections of his bitter old man.

 

He wanted Kylo to slave away under the mercy of some boss? Kylo smirks. He _was_ the boss.

 

He made millions, he was dirty filthy rich, and his job was thriving. A rising star. His dad had always laughed at him, kicked him down, hurt him, beat him into submission and literally spat at him and his ambitions.

 

How many nights had Kylo been trodden in the dirt by his father - there were too many to count. He’d been left covered in stinging gashes, bruised, broken, spitting and coughing up blood for days afterward. He’d had his dad hunched over him hissing poison into his ear, yanked up by his collar. Jameson’s whisky fumes. Blood. Gritty broken glass stinging his palms. A shattered jaw. _That’s_ what his dad figured of his alternative career path.

 

_Whose laughing now dad?_ He thinks at he tips the start of a curling smirk at his reflection. He’s got more wads of cash in his wallet right now than his dad ever _saw_ in his whole squalid little lifetime.

 

When push came to shove, Kylo and Ben’s bright efforts got them their college scholarships at sixteen, they were gone from the hell-hole that all other normal, far luckier, kids got to refer to as their home. Their mom ran away too after they went to college. Left their dad to his debts and his drink. He ended up living in a shitty trailer park, flat broke. Drinking and smoking a hole in his gut and lungs with reds and whiskey.

 

And he deserved every second of it. Kylo never saw his pathetic excuse for parents again. Doesn’t even know if they’re alive or dead. Doesn’t care. Slept easier for it too.

 

He steps away from the mirror. Heading downstairs. When he comes to the door of the stairs, he peers around and sees his Kitten was on the terrace. Book to hand. Tea too. She was relaxed into one of his patio chairs. Lost in a book, scribbling in a notebook - most likely for work. He smiles and saunters away to his office, knowing she was content. That settles him somehow. He went into his office at ten to nine. Plenty of time before his call to his associates in the Middle East.

 

And it all goes smoothly. Sheikh Qadir was more than happy with his terms and ideas. A thoroughly modern architect for a thoroughly modern man. He graciously accepts the job for his team. Promising to personally oversee the plans before they hand-delivered them to him in Abu Dhabi. Maybe Kylo can snatch away his Kitten for that tropical getaway after all?

 

The Sheikh was even so generous as to offer Kylo the first night in the top class suite when it was done. Free of charge. The suite that would usually cost $80,000 per night. Kylo liked the UAE’s Middle Eastern looking, nodding towards the future. Lap of luxury too. He would be competing to design a hotel among many pioneering greats already there. He relished the challenge. He also knows that his Arabic associates had money pouring out their ears. A million dollars was nothing to them. It was to them what a hundred dollars was to normal people. Mere mortals.

 

Kylo ends the call and emails to give his head designers the good news. With Dominick’s backing, and projects and now the millions rolling in from the Middle East, they’re going to be turning over profits in a heartbeat. That’s a pleasant thought.

 

He buries himself in work for a couple more hours. Shrugging off his jacket he only put on for the Skype call, he drapes it over his chair and makes more calls that he needs too. Going over a few un-ironed projects for his residential team. He’s overseeing a lot, just to be sure his colleagues keep standards at his high skilled level. They had a reputation to uphold after all.

 

A couple hours later, and he’s pining for Evie, and a change of scenery. He wants to nuzzle into that neck of hers he loves. Wants to kiss her. Feel her close by. He kept looking back to the couch she sat in behind him yesterday.

 

He calls off of work around noon. Stepping out his office, heading for his garden and maybe for another cup of coffee. He eagerly spies the spot where she’s sat earlier - to find it’s empty. And she wasn’t in the house either. He strides for the kitchen and out the huge glass door onto the patio. He scans the pool and the gardens and sure enough - he finds her relatively quickly.

 

She was gardening. _Cause of course she was._

 

On her knees, in scruffy indigo jeans, muddy sneakers and a grey tee, in the dirt, rearranging his perfectly landscaped plant beds. He arches a brow. Somewhat amused at finding her in this position. He was learning she wasn’t good at being still - _Unless_ she’s had too much wine. She liked being busy. Liked things keeping her hands and mind occupied. Her green fingers itching to come to life where there was an unattended garden to be had.

 

She was under shade of his big oak tree. He grabs another mug of his coffee, and strides out to join her.

 

She’s tending to a particularly sad looking fern when he pipes up. Dark voice breaking across the sunny garden.

 

“You know I have a highly paid gardener who comes three times a week?” He asks her.

 

She smiles up at him. Still on her knees. Hands moulded around the roots of a Calluna shrub. She was patting soul around it into the earth.

 

“Well. Your gardener may be the best. But your landscaper should’ve thought about the shadows from those trees not giving these plants the sun they need. Ferns like damp shade. But lavender needs sandy soil and sunlight.” She points out.

 

That’s when Kylo notices it. She’s shifted the whole plant bed around. All the plants that had been on the left, were now on the right. And vice versa. She must’ve been out here a while doing this.

 

“I noticed them when I was sat having my tea. I thought it’d be a shame to let them not grow to their best. _Especially_ now autumns on the way.” She adds.

 

He could see how happy she was. He suddenly didn’t care about the six figures he paid his landscaper to make this flawless garden. He didn’t care about his garden. Or the plants in it. He just wanted a view to look at. He’d pay someone else to do it for him.

 

The thought that she put effort into making his garden a nicer place to be. To look at. It made him smile into his damn coffee.

 

“I’m just about done here...” She tells him meekly. He grins down at her. Watching her sinking her hands down into the soil again. She was in dirt up to her wrists.

 

“Good. Cause I’m taking you shopping.” He beams darkly down at her.

 

Her face was a perplexed picture. “Shopping?” She asks.

 

“ _Shopping_.” He confirms.

 

“Go wash the dirt off those hands, get that ass in one of your pretty sundresses kitten. You got _ten_ minutes.” He beams. Moving confidently back across the lawn.

 

She blinks after him. Then snaps into action. She brushes off her knees and scampers off to change and put a bit of makeup on.

 

And within exactly nine minutes, they both clamber in the Aston and it roars out his sleek gravel drive and they’re off to his high class end of town. The sun skips merrily off the Aston’s roof. Kylo likes how her hair flutters in the sort-of-summery breeze from her open window.

 

“So. Why the sudden interest in taking me shopping? If I might press the question.” Evie smiles at him as they step up into the poshly paved mall square.

 

“You deserve pretty things. That’s my agenda.” He grins.

 

The shops here were all well beyond her budget. Prada. Bvlgari. Balenciaga. And D&G. All the designer shops sat in a gleaming marble row. Impeccably situated in the Italian themed paved square. Set with circular fountains. Festoon lights hung bowed above the street. The place hums with activity. Laughter. Chatter. And every big tree is twined with sparkling lights that twinkle when they catch the sun. The whole place seemed to be glittering and bright.

 

It was opposite an orderly row of posh restaurants. Bistros. Gourmet kitchens and fantastic seafood restaurants. The waiters within all wore ties with button ups and cloth aprons. The small neat tables had candles or flowers, or both, and proper linen napkins folded by the cutlery. All tables are shrouded in pristine white cloth. The smell of divine cooking food lingers in the air as she and Kylo walk along, hand in hand. Strolling along the pristine pavements.

 

Evie’s eyes linger over the shops. She was inherently intimidated by the big emblazoned letters enshrining the designer stores they were walking past. Names she’s only seen on the pages in glossy fashion magazines. Names she could only gawp and admire at. Imagining how obscene some things cost. She was a level-headed girl. Designer handbags and shoes were a foreign fancy to her. She could think of better things to spend $800 dollars on, than one handbag or one dress.

 

Her mother had been a firm believer in doing something good. Something worthwhile. Something that would last for millennia. She worked tirelessly for a charity organisation that funded underprivileged kids and orphans. She’d worked for various charities throughout her life - ones that could’ve done a _hell_ of a lot of good with $800. That could buy a community garden for an inner city school. Fund a volunteers soup kitchen for the homeless. Help organise a yard sale for proceeds towards a run down public convenience - like a library or a school.

 

It’s madness to her that someone could spend three figures worth on something as ineffectual as fashion or an accessory.

 

She gets lost off in her thoughts as they come past the sleek sparse white marble and glass window of Prada. Only two models in each window that flanked the gleaming door. Both mannequins wearing a crazy fusion of patterns Evie never would’ve considered went together in the same outfit.

 

It all looked so pristine. So unsoiled. A great glittering shop with its edifice held up the world famous brand of luxury fashion. Evie’s eyes wander to the contents inside the shop. She can see a tiled floor in black and white diamond. Glass shelves with precisely folded jumpers and clothes suspended neatly on hangers. Waiting to be touched. Admired. Worn and flaunted. She bet it smelled great in there too. The air infused rich with decadent candy-like perfume. Curling out the door to tempt in passers by.

 

She snatched her attention to the next shop. Unaware a pair of omnipotent dark eyes are watching her. He’s still in his flawlessly crisp suit and shirt from earlier. His vintage Rolex glints silver on his wrist where sunlight glimmers off it. His arm swinging with hers as they walk. His other hand strains forward his pocket where it’s safely tucked. He’s watching her gaze linger on the window of the store next door to Prada.

 

He flickers a glance up at the store. Big silver letters on the marble white above the door. Gilda & Pearl, London. And he sees why her glance is stuck there. In the simply white window, there’s a row of tailors dummies, trussed up in fancy silky pyjamas. Flowery and cute. There’s a fluffy hemmed, babydoll type kimono that looks vintage and flirty. Her gaze would be stuck, he guesses, on the button up and shorts set. Ivory white and blue jasmine flowers dotted all over.

 

Kylo brings them slowly to a stop by the window as Evie looks. She turns to him when he stops. Seeking as to why. Her cute little face searching his.

 

He nods towards the window with a tilt of his head. His hair, in this light it glimmered silver off the sun. Tresses shifting in the breeze. “Something catch your eye?” He asks with the start of a smirk.

 

“I _just_ \- thought those pyjamas were cute. Is all.” She smiles meekly.

 

He doesn’t budge. Rather he twines her fingers tighter with his- and tugs her towards the double door entrance. Vanilla and Jasmine perfume beckoning them in from its fragranced entryway. Sugar and spice and all things nice.

 

She hesitates. Digging her heels in. Feeling trepidation at the prospect of going into the designer store. Her mouth gapes a little. Kylo’s frown scrunched at her nervousness.

 

“What’s the matter?” He drawls. Tucking her closer.

 

“I’m not exactly sure I can even afford anything in _there_... not even one of their paper bags.” She frets. And also she felt _so_ inferior going into a polished posh shop like that.

 

She felt beneath it. _Cheap_. She didn’t want to garner sharp up-and-down bitchy glances from shop assistants who _knew_ she didn’t belong in there. Like that scene in pretty woman. Evie remarks stupidly to herself. They’ll chase her out with piercing eyes and words and snarling insults that there’s nothing for _her_ here.

 

“Well. I _can_.” Kylo says simply. Gravity in his words hot and hard. Intense as ever.

 

He holds her hand and takes her through the doors. She fidgets with her dress. Smoothing down the blue skirts. Looking flighty in her simple ballet pumps. Her little satchel bag bouncing on her hip as she walked. Kylo felt like her granite black pillar of strength by her side. She clutches onto that strength.

 

He takes his time strolling in the store with her. Still clasping her hand. She glances around at all the silky things lining the shelves. Or folded up in fancy French drawers. White marble dominates the inside of the shop too. With touches of baby pink, leafy wallpaper on some of the walls. And enshrining alcoves where silky pjs or naughty loungewear sat proudly displayed. Every item of clothing looks vintage and covered in flowers.

 

Pluck any piece out this store, and it would look absolutely era perfect on a 1920’s glamour-model.

 

Kylo watches her. She drops his hand to look at a silk emerald-moss nightshirt. _She’d look good in green_. He thinks. Her pallor was milk bottle pale. She’d look gorgeous. He sees her admire it. And then baulk _very_ obviously at the price tag.

 

A friendly shop assistant sways over to them in a pair of ribbon bow-tied heels, and a black body-con dress. A young girl. Friendly sounding too. Chirpy but not annoyingly so. “Hi there.”

 

Evie and Kylo turn to look. She was young and curvy. Had bronze-caramel skin and a big poofy afro streaked with some blonde shooting through the curly chestnut brown of her hair. The freckles on her nose made her look impishly young. Big silver hoops in her ears jangled when she moved. And she had a front gap toothed smile that looked fashionably pretty. Her name tag read ‘Jasmine.’

 

“Can I help you folks today at all?” She asks nicely. Hands folded in front of her. Usually Kylo was immensely irritated by shop assistants who hounded him like an annoying fly. But she was cute and she seemed genuinely interested in offering help should they need it.

 

Kylo grins at her. “ _Yes_ you can. I think we’ll be needing of one of your changing rooms.” He smiles like the devil. Evie blinks nervously across at him.

 

“Of _course_. You guys browse. Let me know if you need any different sizes or colours. I’ll go check on that changing room for you.” She smiles. Leaving them to browse. Off in a cloud of candy-violet perfume that lingers in the space she’d just filled.

 

Evie gulps. Kylo tilts up her chin.

 

“I’ve seen your eyes linger on atleast _ten_ different things in here Kitten. You see something you like? Pick it out. Try it on.” He urges.

 

“But...Kylo, _It’s_...” she begins. His eyes narrow at her slightly.

 

“ _No_ buts. You liked the thing in the window. Yes?”

 

She hesitates. But. “ _Yes_.”

 

She really _did_ like it. It was beautiful and she’s not spoilt herself with new clothes or anything in months. She gives in.

 

He was an immovable force. It was always easier to _give in_ to an immovable force. Like a hurricane or a storm. Fighting it was a waste of time and energy.

 

“Then that’s the _only_ thing you need to say. Got it?” He checks with a firm smile.

 

“Kitten. You _deserve_ it. Let me.” He tersely persuades her.

 

She nods. A smile starting to crack her lips. She turns around. Bolstered by his courage in her. And actually starts to get down to some shopping. Pretty soon her arms are full. She’s got nightgowns, pyjama sets. And one robe. Until Kylo plucks down another _two_ and gives them to her.

 

“You’d look damn fucking fine in those.” He whispers sexily. “ _Stop_ worrying. I can _hear_ you thinking.” He tells.

 

She blushes. And her fingers brush the lace trim on a barely blush pink short slip of a nighty that cost more than her rent. And looked like something worn by Zelda Fitzgerald in a past life. Again. Her big bad dark man’s mouth is at her ear. His hand skims her hip lightly. Seductive.

 

“You’d look fucking _fine_ in that one too.” He growls. Patting her bottom with a “ _good girl”_  cooed in her ear when she adds it to her pile of things. Kylo notices she’s still checking tabs as she goes along. Fiddling with her necklace as she goes. Nervous tick.

 

“ _And_ stop checking price tags...” He drawls. He was so bossy. Today and always.

 

His eyes admiring a smoky ash-grey set of lingerie with off white trim that she’d look divinely hot in. When she stops to look at some cute mule slippers. Kylo collides his hard strong body into her pliant back. Feeling her soft ass press into him through her dress. His big paw finds and skims her hipbone again.

 

“If you knew how much that Harry Winston pendant you’re fiddling with cost. You wouldn’t give a _damn_ about all this. Drop in the ocean, Kitten.” He sneers hotly at her. Her mouth drops open and she turns to look at him. Shocked.

 

He nods ahead of them. Fighting the urge to grope at her soft plump ass that was well within his reach. “Get the pink and the ivory. I wanna see you in _both._ ” He demands. Referring to the silky pyjama sets before her. Trimmed with wispy lace. Italian. Hand crafted. With the softest silk on the planet.

 

He speaks up again when she lingers near a purple patterned sleep playsuit. That was no good for her, in his opinion.

 

“Remember. Make sure I still get easy access to you. Or I _will_ shred it with my bare hands.” He purrs. Breath tickling her ear.

 

“ _Kylo!”_ She admonishes him with a blush. Squeaking back at him.

 

“Just being honest.” He sighs happily in a chuckle. Kissing her neck gently afterwards. A chaste quick press of his lips. But she’s shuddering weakly at it still.

 

Jasmine rejoins them. Unloads Evie’s burdened arms and leads them to the luxurious changing rooms. Thick cream carpets and pink crushed velvet drapes. Big ornate mirrors everywhere.

 

Jasmine deposits Evie and her array of things in a booth, and flits away for a second. Coming back with a mirror backed tray, laden with two glass tulip shaped flutes of taupe golden champagne. Fizzing and spitting bubbles. Ice cold Louis Roederrer Cristal champagne. Jasmine leaves them with the bottle. Telling them to enjoy. And relaxing Evie’s overwhelmed nerves by giving her a funny anecdote about an old lady who comes in to try things on, purely for the champagne luxury and never to buy a thing.

 

She leaves them be to try on her things. Telling her to just shout out if she needs a hand. Going off to serve more customers. Kylo’s decadently lounging in an armchair opposite her changing room as she manoeuvres into her silky things behind the curtain. Unknown to her, his dark eyes fixed on a crack in the curtain. Devouring what the mirrors reflection offers to him as she tries things on.

 

He sees the curve of a hip. The flash of a thigh. He’s suddenly quite glad to be sat down. Drinking Cristal. He admires the gorgeous view. Smiling to himself. He hears clothes rustle and a second later, her hands hook over the curtain and out pops her head.

 

He nods his head to the side. Telling her to lose the shroud of the curtain. She does so. Letting it fall heavily away and giving him a glimpse of the embroidered blue gown she tried on. His eyes drink her in greedily. Hunger in his pupils. He stands his drink down. Rises. And pads across to her. Not making a sound. Him in all his towering dark suit glory.

 

_He’s reminding himself that he won’t fuck her for the whole promenade of shops to hear them. Cause, holy shit, how he wanted too._

 

He presses the curtain back and storms in to give her a heated kiss. He pulls back and skims a hair off her shoulder. She breathlessly enquires;

 

“So, you like it then?” She blushes. He gives no answer. Save for skimming a thumb down over her silken clad thigh.

 

“I don’t know if it makes you look more adorable or more _fuckable_.” He drawls at her. He removes himself back to a respectable distance after kissing her temple. Urging her to carry on. Show him some of her favourites. A thumb stroking her blushing cheek.

 

Jasmine rejoins them again after giving the happy couple a few minutes of personal space. “How we doing here? Everything fit you alright hun?” She seeks.

 

“Like a dream.” Evie replies. Hiding slightly behind the curtain. Kylo’s hand slips for his wallet. And he flips out a shiny silver and black card.

 

“We’ll take it all. Gift wrapped. _Two_ of each item.” He finalises. One set for her to have at his. One for her place. He could hear Evie’s brain screaming in panic from behind the curtain. Jasmine nods heartily and gently accepts his card.

 

“Fabulous. You two just made my _day_.” She beams with a wink. Perkily walking off to bag up Evie’s trousseau of pyjamas and naughty silk nightwear.

 

Kylo turns to her with dark sexy eyes. And a smile that could kill a woman with its virility. “Show me more.” He orders hotly. She disappears behind the curtain and slips on more things to try.

 

She tries not to faint at the register when Jasmine reads them the total. She stays upright. But Kylo watches her face blanch whiter than pale.

 

He smirks. Snatching up all her big bags. Thanking their helpful shop assistant. He moves them on to the next store. Bags held in one strong hand. Her sweet little palm curled in his other.

 

Anything she stares at for more than three seconds. He _buys_. She ends up with quite a new collection of clothes by the time they go in five more shops. After that many, Evie’s feeling exhausted from changing rooms. Light headed and bubbly from her Cristal earlier. And trying not to fidget so much when Kylo spoils her. By the end of the shopping trip, she’s almost managing to enjoy it.

 

The money she’ll worry about another time. Knowing full well he’ll growl and instantly dismiss any notion of her paying him back for the things he’s bought.

 

She thought the image of him laden down with designer shopping bags would soften his hard as nails image. But it doesn’t. He still looks tall, dangerous and impossibly good looking. They come to fewer and fewer shops she has interest in. And Kylo tugs her now into an expensive bar and orders her a glass of pink sparkling wine - she’d said she had a craving for it earlier when they were walking around. And he gets a Rusty Nail cocktail. A whiskey and scotch liquor drink.

 

They sit at a posh blues bar, her big new wardrobe heaped at their feet. Enjoying a cool drink, on a hot day, in a nice part of the city in a bar that was trendy and old school all in one. They talk again. They’ve talked a lot these last two days. It’s _nice_. Proper conversation. About work or life. Unhindered by rule or flirting. Sipping drinks and looking like the most typical loved-up couple in the world.

 

Today - that’s all they were. And it suits them down to the ground. More than they could both ever believe.

 

Kylo, of course, covers the cheque. Glowering at her as she reached for her purse. He puts down a wad of bills for a healthy tip and says that; “ _You will never be obligated to pay for anything when you’re with me.”_ With a firm look. She blushes. And thanks him. Covering his big hand to hold it. Watching how their fingers move to fuse together. His thumb strokes her hand. She tells him how much she’s enjoyed herself today. Makes him smirk as she tells him she’s absolutely not worrying about money - _much_.

 

With that, they’re both ready to head off home. To his place. He gathers up her plethora of bags and hand in hand they saunter back to the car. His trunk only just closes with the amount of bags and clothing in it. Thankfully it relents. He climbs into the Aston, making himself comfy in the drivers seat.

 

They’re ten minutes into the winding drive home. Passing under a leafy glade. When Kylo hears a crinkling sound. Paper being twisted. He glances to the side and sees Evie unwrapping a small cherry pink little taffy sweet.

 

“It came with the cheque in the bar.” She explains. “Want one?” She offers.

 

Kylo feels a memory like a punch to his gut. _Cherry_   _Taffy._

This small, unassuming, fucking little thing. Sat innocently in her palm. And he feels like he’s choking. Can’t take his eyes off it. Which is dangerous, considering he’s driving.

 

Evie watches his entire demeanour shift. He re-clutches the steering wheel in a death grip in those crushing tatted hands, and eyes the road. His jaw ticks and clenches together. She shoves the Taffy aside in her purse and gently placed her palm on his knee.

 

“What’s the matter Kylo? Did I say something or do something wrong? If I did. I’m so-“ She frets weakly. Offering an apology and she’s done nothing

 

He blinks and shakes his head for no. “ _No_. No It’s- it’s not _you_ , Kitten.” He says evenly. But his voice sounds laboured. Heavy with thought.

 

She’s furrowing her brow at him. “What is it?” She asks kindly.

 

“The Taffy. It’s-“ He swallows. “My Gran used to have a bowl of that stuff at her house. Right in the front door, hallway table as you walk in. _Always_ a china patterned bowl. _Always_ Full of wrapped Taffy. Cherry was her favourite. Me and Ben used to sneak a couple when she wasn’t looking.” He explains. Evie lets every word sink in. He opened up, and she was gladly all ears to listen.

 

“The last time I ate one of those...” He trails off with a sigh. His right arm twinges. The scar there tingles as he recounts the memory of how he earned it. The big gash bumped up on his skin, raised from wrist, to an inch just shy of his elbow join.

 

“So odd that I can dredge up an entire day I hoped to forget, merely by the sight of a _fucking_ candy wrapper.” He says in harsh amazement. Evie sits back in her seat. Face all innocent and worried. And he talks. She lets him.

 

“I was, must’ve been 10 or 11 maybe. I was in Middle School. Just another day. Except I had my first drawing class in Art. We got homework of drawing still life. I chose to do an apple or some shit like that. So I’m sat at the kitchen table after school, drawing, sketching and shading. Ben was at gym class. Mom was working at the Diner as usual. It was just me and dad in the house...” He tells.

 

Evie didn’t like where this was heading.

 

“Dad was on nightshifts at the Steel works. He was upstairs. Passed out drunk when I got in. But I made the mistake of closing the front door too loud. And it woke him up.” He explained.

 

“It was _never_ a good idea to wake up my dad before he wanted.” He mentions gravely. Whilst concentrating on a junction. But still carries on talking as he does.

 

“I heard him groan from upstairs. Hungover probably. I heard his whiskey bottle clank on the bedroom floor. And then he starts thudding his way downstairs. Moaning about who the fuck woke him up. He stood in the kitchen doorway. And he saw me. With my class sketchbook. Trying to draw this apple for Art class.”

 

Kylo can recall the revulsion that shuddered across his fathers face as he stood in the doorway. In a stained wife beater. With a three day beard and a red smoke on the go. Trickling fumes from his mouth. He can still _feel_ his gaze of hatred daggered onto his back. His shouts of ‘ _The fuck are you doing that for?’_

 

“He hated that I was drawing. Loathed it. Probably why he then decided to pin my right arm to the table and put his cigarette out on my skin.” He tells her pithily.

 

Evie’s eyes fill silver with tears. Her gasp shatters the silence as the car roars mightily along the road.

 

“He told me that no son of his was gonna be a fucking artist. Yelled in my ear about how if I don’t toughen up the nasty bad world will chew me up and spit me out. Then he heated up a burner, and grabbed a carving knife. Put it in the eye of the stove.”

 

Evie’s tears fall. She watches him as he talks, unbuttoning his cuff, rolling his suit sleeve down, he shows her the straight scar streaking from his wrist. To near his elbow.

 

“He seared me with it. Cut deep. Right to the bone. Told me that’s what he’d do if he _ever_ caught me drawing under his roof again.” He explains. Shifting gears quickly. Not looking across at her worried face he knew he’d find.

 

“That’s _despicable_.” She ushers weakly. A whisper. Full of her sadness and tears for him.

 

“That was _Dad_.” Kylo’s explains like it’s nothing. He was used to it.

 

Kylo had bled into and all over his sketchbook. Sobbing, He then bandaged his own arm. Raced upstairs and grabbed his backpack, shoved a few essentials in it. Clothes. A toy. Some homework. Before bolting out the house from his dad’s wrath, he ran straight to his mom at the Diner.

 

She chucked in her shift and took him straight to the hospital for stitches. Told Gran to get Ben from school. Cause Dad was on yet another raging bender against his family. Kylo ended up having to stay the night to treat his numerous cuts and burns.

 

They tucked him up on a nice clean bed on the kids ward. Tried to force him to eat. But he couldn’t. Not that awful reheated crap they called hospital food. The pain meds soon kicked in and knocked him out.

 

He was safe - if only for that night. Arm in a sling. Looking so small and helpless in his bed. Tucked away from his abusive father, and the mother who was never bothered to be there to defend him. Questions beyond his ten year old capability needed answering in the morning as to _how_ or why he got that cut. Social workers from Child Services hovering at the door. The nurses and doctors didn’t _buy_ his mom’s version of his catching it on the car door.

 

When Kylo woke up the next morning. Gran was there. She’d been there ever since well before visiting hour started. Didn’t want him waking up alone. She force fed him Jell-O and ice cream. They did mad lips together to pass the time. And she shelled _cherry Taffy’s_ for them both. He ate so many of them that his tongue turned pink.

 

That was _all_ that he associated with the tiny little pink sweet she’d offered him.

 

“Those taffys _just....._ remind me of my Grandma, _and_ that day. _This_ scar.” He adds succinctly. But his voice was lighter. Softer. More reverent when he spoke about her.

 

“She was the one person I had who gave a shit about me. Mom was always out. At work. Dad was always lost on drink and hell bent hurting us all for the fun of it.” He explains.

 

“Then there was Gran. She was so good to me and Ben. She was the one we always went to when dad got too fond of his drink and his fists. Her house was a refuge. She made sure we were fed a hot meal. Made sure our homework was done on time. She was the one who made life bearable for us. Sure as hell didn’t get _that_ at home.” He adds

 

Evie laid a gentle hand on the crook of his elbow that was closest to her. Stroking his arm through his suit. Her heart breaking for him. She’d never known her dad. He’d been a flighty figure that came and went like smoke on mirrors. She always thought it was sad she never got to know him. But now she can see there were things _much_ sadder than absent parents. _Abusive ones._

People so eaten up with hate, violence and rage, that they can commit such atrocities to their own family. She can’t even begin to understand how it must feel to be beaten senseless by someone whose supposed to do nothing other than _love_ you.

 

She watches the side profile of his face. He looked impassive. Even though he’s just recounted all that pain to her. His eyes are stormy but his face is clear.

 

“I’m so sorry Kylo.” She simply _doesn’t_ know what else to say.

 

He nods. Swallows. The only semblance of indicating that he’s heard her.

 

“Don’t be sorry Kitten. Look at me now.... _that’s_ where drawing got me. Got me fucking further than _his_ sorry ass ever did.” He turns to glance at her. Squeezing her hand quickly before shifting gears again.

 

“I make my millions from that. And my old man? He died living in a shitty trailer park. Chain smoking himself to death.” He finalises with a note of pride.

 

“He hurt you simply for being yourself...” She states in horrified amazement. He catches her wiping away a stray tear.

 

“I trust you know you can _always_ be yourself with me, Kylo.” She tells him openly.

 

He swallows and a soft smile invades his mouth. He clutches onto her hand for a moment. His thumb swiping across her knuckles was all that he needed to say. _She_   _knows._

It’s a strangely quiet drive home after that. Not awkward silence. Just silent. They listen to some Al Green song on the seventies radio station. Evie silently vows never to eat cherry taffy’s ever again.

 

When they come back to the house. Kylo being ever the gentleman, unloads her shopping for her. Carries it inside too. She smiles sweetly at him. Taking it upstairs to unpack it all. He goes up too. Changing his suit first into a scarlet henley that he didn’t mind getting dirty. And a pair of soft lounge pants. He kisses her temple and says he’s going down to make a start on dinner.

 

She calls him perfect. He kisses her slow and deep for that. She strides gently away to his bathroom. He watches her go. He sets about cooking in his kitchen. Not something he did terribly often. He was usually out to eat at five star restaurants with business lunches or deals over coffee. He rarely cooks. But he was proficient enough to have a couple of recipes off-pat that he’s picked up over the years.

 

Pan fried duck. With pea and mint risotto. He’d picked up that particular dish from a vineyard in France ten years ago. A perennial favourite.

 

He anticipates Kittens return downstairs as he cooks. Pours them both a glass of red Cabernet. He puts one of his dark and bassy playlists to echo through the kitchen. He likes a bit of noise when he cooked. He’s just dicing greens when she rejoins him. He has to do a double take and set his knife down to admire her sauntering sweetly towards him in her new loungewear.

 

She’s holding her phone to her ear. Talking animatedly to the person on the other line.

 

A soft stripy top that hangs off one shoulder. Flowery silky Capri lounge pants on her legs. Ending at her calves. She’s knotted her hair on top of her head and washed her makeup off. When she gets closer he can smell her freshly applied plume of perfume shifting in the air.

 

He can’t stop looking at her bare shoulder where it peeked out the top. He loves rubbing his unshaven chin on that spot. Feeling his bristly chin scuff her soft skin. He loves that afterwards he just has to duck his head, and her weak hotspot neck is _right there_ for him to kiss.

 

He’s leaning against the counter with one hip. Watching her smile, laugh down the phone. Such a bright sound that he adores. She perched herself on a bar stool directly opposite. Just to be near him again as he goes about his cooking.

 

_She’s Just sitting there_. Unaware. Not knowing she’s making his tin chest feel all warm and buttery soft to think she wants to keep him company. Calming him. Relaxing him.

 

He’ll never tire of this new sensation.

 

He slides her glass towards her. She mouthed a demure ‘ _thankyou_.’ He winks. She blushes. He resumes his chopping and dicing greens for their tea. Smiling _much_ more now she was in the room.

 

She’s on the phone for an awfully long while. Talking to someone whose obviously a friend on the other end. Kylo imagines she’s the kind that’s even polite to time-wasting parasitic telemarketers. She probably told them to have a nice day, he thinks with a smile.

 

He looks up when she’s near the end of the call. She beams as she says goodbye. She sets her phone down and reaches for her wine. Sipping it gladly. Now she’s made him curious.

 

“Who was that?” He seeks. Intrigued.

 

“ _Oh_.” She smiles. “A friend from the charity my mum used to work for. I always give a donation in her memory each year. Nothing big. Just a little something manageable. Every cent helps after all. Anyway, every year they throw this huge big black tie gala at the Four Seasons in town. It’s next week. I’ve never been able to afford a ticket, but my friend Erik _always_ phones me up for a chat. He worked with my mum for years. It’s nice to hear from him sometimes.”

 

Kylo’s ears pricked up. Face turned downwards to his chopping. But his eyes raise to her. “Gala?” He asks.

 

Evie nods. Sipping her Cabernet. “Yeah. The tickets are ridiculously expensive. I can never afford one. Mum took me once when she helped organise it. I think I was.... about, six. Uh, we didn’t have much money back then. I was _heavily_ enamoured with Cinderella at the time, and mum made me this amazing blue dress out of our old curtains.” She chuckles.

 

“I love, love, _loved_ that dress. Refused to take it off. I slept in it I think. And she took me along to the gala ball that year in that big golden grand hotel ballroom. And it was, _stunning_. I was enchanted by it. All the dresses and suits. It was my fairytale for the night.” She explains warmly.

 

He watches her face glow with the memory.

 

“You miss going?” He asks.

 

“I would like to go again.... it’s just not in my budget.” She shrugs. Accepting it. At peace with her decision. “It’s really for bankers and high flyers. People with influence, really.”

 

“But I help them out in other ways I suppose. I do their charity garden days, community safe spaces. Spend all day painting murals on walls in underfunded inner city schools. And I always try to donate to their fundraising children’s day fairs in whatever way I can. Last year I was on the face-painting stall.” She explains.

 

He smiles over at her. “Your mom sounds sweet, like _you_.” He tells. Evie beams.

 

“She was. She had barely anything to give. But she’d have given you her last penny if you needed it. She _really_ would.” She recants sadly.

 

“Even when she never had a new dress from one summer to the next. She still gave her all to other people who had even less than we did. We had a home. We could put what food we could afford on the table. We all had each other. We were very lucky. I _never_ doubted that.” She smiles in fondness.

 

“You must miss her.” Kylo sympathises. Reaching over to clutch her hand over the stem of her wineglass.

 

“Every day.” She answers with a sigh. Kylo can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like. “Food smells good...” She adds. Watching him cook. He smiles and she leaps up to offer help. He tells her firmly to sit her cute ass down. It’s his turn tonight.

 

They natter, he cooks. They drink more wine. He still cooks without help. And then she sets the table - as he wouldn’t let her help out with anything else. Then they eat. She devours every bite of his glorious risotto and pan fried duck. Not telling him how attractive she found to watch him cooking in his kitchen. It was somehow oddly sexy to her. That big man doing something so domestic for them made her cheeks heat up.

 

Kylo. Red cheeked from the heat. Hair a little damp on his brow. Dark eyes concentrating as he flips the duck over in his skillet. Big arms flexing. Shirt sleeves pushed up his tattooed forearms. Tea towel slung over one shoulder as he spooned the duck with its juices as it fried, basting it a succulent pink. Evie’s wine went straight to her head as she sat admiring him from opposite the island. _Who wouldn’t swoon at this sight?_

 

He has to shoo her away from helping with the dishes. He does it all on his own. She takes their glasses and banished herself to the open lounge. She clicks on the fire and spreads herself out on her belly on the huge sofa, skimming a few pages of the novel she’s desperate to finish. Tessa Dare this time. A girly trashy historical regency romance that makes her girly heart flutter and beat wildly.

 

Kylo calls through he’s got a couple of calls to take care of. She smiles over at him. Telling him she’s good for now. After half an hour, she grows bored of her book. She switches on the tv and finds a quiet film to concentrate on.

 

She nearly flies out her skin when suddenly a big body is at her back. Covering her. A sneaky pair of lush lips kissing that spot on her bare shoulder he’s been eyeing up all night. She shivers and smiles. He kisses from the curve of her shoulder to the crook of her neck. Holding himself up so he wouldn’t crush her. Hips pressing into her ass.

 

“Wanna watch the movie with me?” She asks. Closing her eyes as he sucks on that delicate patch of skin behind her ear.

 

“I have a _better_ idea...” He grins lethally. She can feel him smirking into her skin. He bites gently on her shoulder. One big hand smoothing up her spine under her shirt.

 

Which was how they both ended up in his gigantic bathtub not fifteen minutes later.

 

Kylo’s arms curled around her as she laid back into his naked chest. Warm, soapy-wet from foamy Dior bubbles. Naked. Hot. And in each other’s arms. Their two glasses of wine stood on the floor beside them. Something late night and sexy pouring through the speaker in his bathroom. The muggy air smelt like Dior.

 

Evie snuggles down into him behind her. The bath plenty big enough for two. Even with a man of his Titan-like proportions sat in it. Much better than when they’d both crammed into her tiny tub back at her place. He could atleast lay his long legs out in this one.

 

He’s too irresistible tonight. Earlier with the cooking. And now he was naked and dusted in Dior scented bath bubbles. It’s too much. What next to disarm her? Posing naked on their bed with a red rose caught between his teeth or something.

 

“Much better than a movie on the couch.” He decides. Husking a smile in her ear. Wet black hair slicked back on his head. Dripping cold down on his shoulders. But he didn’t care. He was currently covering her perky breasts and slippery coral nipples with his hands. Grazing them. Cupping them in his big slick palms.

 

She hums in agreement. Wiggling her toes in the warm water.

 

“This tub felt way too big for just me when you were away in Switzerland.” She tells him with a smile.

 

He cups her hips. “How does it feel now, Kitten?” He smirks.

 

She’s giddy with the way he’s tracing patterns on her thighs. “Mmm.” She thinks.

 

“ _Just_ right.” She sighs. Wiggling her ass against him. He chuckled darkly, leans back, resting his head on the lip of the bath. Smiling. Apparently he was always smiling a little now she was around.

 

His wet fingers drip to the waters silvery surface. Disturbing it to to ripple as he delicately strokes a wet curl back off her sticky cheek. She turns her head and leans back more fully pressed to his chest.

 

“I had a lovely day today. And yesterday _too_.” She tells him.

 

He hums in thought. “That so?” He asks. Though he already knew the answer.

 

“Almost a shame that I have to work tomorrow.” She pipes up. Bringing his big wet palm up to her lips. Kissing it. Kissing down his wrist too. Kissing the scar behind the story he told her that afternoon.

 

“That _is_ a shame.” Kylo agrees. Letting the silence envelop them for a minute.

 

“What are you doing next Friday, Kitten?” He asks suddenly. Kissing her shoulder. Nuzzling. Pressing his nose to her hot damp pulse point there.

 

“Nothing whatsoever.” She answers back. “Why’s that?”

 

“Cause I’ve got us two tickets to that Charity black tie Gala.” He says with a smug grin that she feels. And hears.

 

Water sloshes as she twists around. “You didn’t?” She checks.

 

“I _did_.” He flirts back. Mocking her shocked tone.

 

“Those tickets were $10,000.” She gasps. “ _Each_.”

 

Kylo’s smiling darkly at her.

 

“I guess we better find you a dress then. Maybe leave the blue curtains at home this time, Cinders.” He winks at her. Beaming.

 

“You continue to astound me.” She breathes out lightly.

 

“ _Good_.” He finalises with that curling smirk.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimme some thoughts about this chapter folks. (P.S. all your beautiful comments continue to make me go all idiot squirly and happy)


	33. Gala’s & Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Steamy scene is to come again after this. My filthy porn bunnies you will be fed. I haven’t forgotten about you 💕

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday night rolled around quick. Evie’s had a full on week at work. Kylo’s been the same. Ever since their lovely night in the bath at his. She’s been dispatched at Gazette. And he’s been up to his armpits in drawing or calls in his study or at the office. They’ve not seen each other all week.

 

Except for now - she’s rolling her little Honda up his impeccable drive to his beautiful house. One she’s starting to come to see as her home, now too. She’s spent enough time there. Now it’s shifting into a cosy place to be. Especially with Kylo there next to her. Or in the next room.

 

The Gala was tonight. And she’s hopping with excitement - and a good dose of nervousness, for it. She’s borrowed a dress from May, Flo’s daughter. They were roughly a similar size, pre-maternity figure of course, and she had dug out her nicest pair of shoes to go with it. The dress was a powder blue with lighter chiffon drapes over it, creating like ocean waves. The shoes were a nude heel. Quite high. Her feet hurt just to look at them and imagine herself tottering about in them all night.

 

She heaves the dress bag from the back of her car. Hooking the shoes to her fingers. She shuts her door with her hip. And carries her things inside. She sidles up the white marble steps. Arms full, she goes to reach for the keypad;

 

But someone is there already opening the door for her. Kylo.

 

Her face breaks out into a smile. She hadn’t expected anyone to be here. It was half one on a Friday afternoon. She’d assumed he’d be at work. She planned a soak in the tub this afternoon, before getting all dolled up. Ready for tonight.

 

He was in his casual wear. Navy blue henley and indigo jeans. He smirks at her as he opens the door. His broad body filling it. He blocked her way and she came to a gentle stop close to him.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you here...” she beams.

 

“Another nice surprise?” He asks in a low drawl.

 

“Another nice surprise.” She smiles back.

 

Leaning up on tiptoes as he slings an arm around her waist and drags her in close for one of his scorching kisses. The dress is crushed between them in a crumpling crinkle of fabric. His hand slithers down to the dip of her lower back, palming her ass in one big bear paw. He hums into her lips and kisses her like he’s trying to drink her in. His tongue cheekily tangles with hers. And he has to crush her closer when her knees threaten to give way.

 

“Should we perhaps move the making-out inside?” She mumbles into his lips. His hand almost sneaking under her sundress now. Teasing the edge of her panties.

 

“We _can_ move it inside. But it might seem a bit odd if we make-out in front of company.” He says

 

She muffled a moan into his kiss. Placing a hand to his firm pec, she leveraged some space between them.

 

“Company?” She asks. Seeking an answer.

 

He smirks. It reaches those black eyes and makes them sparkle. He takes her free hand and pulls her inside. She remains intrigued. Juggling car keys, a suit bag and a pair of heels. Kylo’s eyes scan the dress bag. He tilts his head. An imperceptible curious look in his eyes at her, asking a question.

 

“I uh, borrowed a dress from Flo’s daughter, May. For tonight. She’s a little taller than me but it should be ok. And I managed to find some decent shoes in my closet-“ She trails off as he smirks wider at her.

 

“And- why are you smiling at me like that?” She asks nervously. He pulls her inside and shuts the heavy slab of his front door after them. She lingers awkwardly on his doormat. Perplexed at his sly, dark enthusiasm.

 

_Atleast it wasn’t a dress made of blue curtains this time, he_ thinks.

_“_ Come on. There’s some people I want you to meet.” He tells her, gently removing the suit bag from her and hanging it on the hat stand next to the door. The shoes he leaves there too. And he tucks her car keys safely into the bowl with his just opposite them on the hallway table.

 

She shrinks down on the spot. He takes her hand again and leads her through to the dining room. Evie is suddenly flushed through with nerves. She didn’t know she’d be meeting people today. If she had she would’ve put on a nice sundress. Not this tatty green spotty chiffon thing that’s seen years of service. A few well worn holes in it that she suspects were from hungry moths from her wardrobe. Her sandals are not the nicest footwear either. And she would’ve brushed her hair rather than wrangling it into a very clumsy bun.

 

She trails after Kylo and sees he’s leading her to the kitchen. Where two other ladies are situated around a bottle of champagne and two flutes of the fizzy golden stuff in their hands. A platter of chocolate dipped strawberries next to them too.

 

The one on the right is an alt rock chick goddess. Evie notes she pulls off dark hair and piercings fiercely well. She had long raven black hair in a fancy vintage arrangement. Streaks of lilac purple shocked through it. A choppy fringe finishes the arrangement on her pixie pale heart shaped face. She had deep purple lipstick and sharp eyeliner on. She’s wearing a ridiculously expensive looking shirt dress. Jet black. Sheer dotted material shirred on her pale skinny arms. A vintage goth like dress that probably cost thousands. Booted velvet heels with fierce studs all over. A septum ring adorned her nose. And she looks like a dangerously designer, goth goddess.

 

The woman to the left was equally as polished - but much _less_ alt rock. She wore a pencil shift red dress on her toned frame. With long tanned legs ending in beige golden Jimmy Choo’s. She had sleek honey silk for hair, wound into a perfect pristine up do. And eyes like two twin discs of limpet green. They were chatting over champagne, but peer over curiously when Kylo steps down into the open plan kitchen to join them. Evie still holding his hand. Trying not to fidget.

 

“Ladies.” He greets gently. “This is Evie. My beautiful date for tonight.” He smiles across at her. Standing with his arm curved around her waist. “Evie this is Ivy.” He gestures to the alt-rock chick. Who nods a smile. “...and this is Cath.”

 

Evie smiles at them. “Its lovely to meet you both.” She smiles brightly.

 

“Cath is your personal stylist for tonight’s gala.” He smiles. Evie’s mouth hangs open. Somewhat shocked.

 

“You are?” Evie asks Cath nicely. A trace of a laugh in her voice.

 

“And she’s the best.” Kylo adds slyly to her. Rubbing her hip.

 

“ _That_ I admit to.” Cath points at him with a sly proud smile.

 

“And over here is Ivy for hair and makeup.” Kylo gestures to the rock chick. Ivy just took a grinning sip of her champagne. Leaving a sticky purple smudge on the rim. She sets it down and pipes up.

 

“Don’t wanna toot my own horn either. But I’m _pretty_ good too.” She assures Evie.

 

“We’re here to make you over for your Gala tonight. Sweetie.” Cath explains to Evie. “I got my personal masseuse and manicurist upstairs. You’ll be pampered. Massaged. Manicures. Pedicures. Then we’ll do your hair and your makeup. Aswell as see to your wardrobe choices. The _works_.” Cath says.

 

Evie’s still speechless. “Oh my goodness...”

 

“He didn’t tell you did he. _Oh_ gosh. I hope we’re a _good_ surprise.” Cath frets. Clasping her hand.

 

Evie clutched a hand to her collarbone. “You guys are an _amazing_ surprise. I’m speechless.” She gets out. Looking at the both of them. Still beaming.

 

“Shall we?” Cath gestures her hand to upstairs. Looping her arm with Evie’s as Kylo steps back.

 

“Sorry sweetie. No men allowed in the pampering room.” Cath teases at him. Evie could see they’d clearly met prior to this. Cath was comfy with him. They had a good rhythm.

 

“I’ll be in my study if you need me.” He tells them all.

 

Ivy grabs the platter of strawberries and carries them on a flat hand. Aswell as grabbing another bottle of Vintage Dom Pérignon. “Well. Unless you’re skilled with a mascara brush or nail polish. You’re _no use_ to us here.” She jokes.

 

Kylo’s smiling at them all. But _especially_ at Evie. Stood there with his his hands hooked in his jean pockets.

 

“Have a nice time Kitten.” He calls after them. Watching the gaggle of them all head for the stairs. Evie smiles back across her shoulder at him.

 

“We promise to make her stunningly beautiful for you.” Ivy winks.

 

“She’s already that.” Kylo tells her. Ivy clutches a hand over her heart. “Oh. _That’s_ cute right there.”

 

She is whisked away by the two spitfire willed women. She learnt very quickly into the session that Ivy and Cath were actually married. They’d had a civil partnership ceremony in Bali, three years ago. They had a cat called parsnip. They sometimes fought like cat and dog. They were admittedly chalk and cheese but they loved each other very much. They were the most sought after team on this coast. They were brilliant. Aswell as hilariously funny, warm and kind. Evie very quickly felt like she’d spent the afternoon gabbing with two friends. Drinking champagne. And eating chocolate covered strawberries. Laughing. Gossiping and having fun.

 

And true to their words; she does get a proper afternoon of pampering. She gets her legs and arms waxed. Has a massage. Sinks into a bath. Could’ve poured her into the tub she was so relaxed after her full body pummelling. Cath’s masseuse had magic hands. The dream team sends her to bathe with a whole box full of products they shoved at her. She exfoliates and uses designer body lotion all over. comes out smelling like a Jo Malone scented dream.

 

Ivy grins and styles her wet hair a little. Blow drying it to perfection. They debate on whether or not she wears her hair up or down.

 

“I mean. You’ve got great body in it. I could do you some great kinky waves. But I think it depends on the dress.” Ivy winks at her. That was when Cath takes her to the bedroom and shows her the choices.

 

Kylo hadn’t held back. Three Valentino ball gowns sit ready for her on the bed. Each with different Cartier jewellery and Laboutin shoes to go with _each_ choice.

 

“He told me a little bit about your style. Sent me over your sizes. These three were my chosen preliminaries. Straight off the Valentino fall line and runway. Personally. I think he wanted to surprise you.” She winks kindly. Arms crossed as Evie surveys all the dresses.

 

They were works of _art_. Spread out across his bed. The first was a vibrant white with pink and yellow poppy flowers. Plenty of poof in the skirts. A funky asymmetrical cut on the legs. The second, was a violent blood red. Very Italian with ruffles and plenty of red lace. A high collar. Trumpet sleeves. The third- the third one was the one that _really_ caught Evie’s eye _._ She can’t help but gravitate towards it.

It was a beautiful golden-taupe. A slim fitting dress, floor length gown. Beaded all over with intricate sheer beads that caught the light. It was a fairly plunging v-neck. The sleeves were big and billowing, slightly trumpet shaped, but ended mid elbow. It had a cape like tuck around the back where the sleeves were joined to the fairly low v scooped back. It shimmered and caught the light. Fringing with beads. All over. A slit in the front up to her knees. It was muted. But pretty. It wasn’t too flashy or bold.

 

There was a dreamy pair of silver and gold muted Jimmy Choos to pair. And a fat velvet Cartier box with it she had yet to see inside.

 

Evie stands in her fluffy dressing gown. And she points to it. “May I?” She asks Cath. Keeper of the dresses.

 

“Go crazy.” She smiles assuringly. Evie steps over to it and gently tucks her manicured - French pink - nails under the waist. Lifting it up. The beads cold and the silk of it almost weightless in her hands. She was fretting how she was probably too pale to pull this one off.

 

Evie admires it for a moment. Cath steps up to her. “Do we have a winner?” She seeks with a grin. Her green eyes softer than shimmering emerald silk.

 

“I think we do.” Evie smiles. “Will it work?” She frets carefully.

 

“ _Perfectly_.” Cath winks at her. “Now. It’s V-neck so let us see what my partner suggests about hair. Ivy clomps back into the room in her boots and lays her hands on Evie’s shoulders.

 

“Personally. For the back cut of this dress. I say we gotta go hair _up._ You got a gorgeous long neck. And that’ll Look great next to some long Cartier earrings...” She takes Evie’s hair and arranged it quickly, pulling it gently back off her face, and letting all the ladies in the room see how it looked. Piled on top of her hair.

 

“I say we wave it. And then pin it up. Back chignon. I got some pretty Swarovski white-gold hair slides to play with.” Ivy teases. Leading Evie over to the chair in front of the dresser. Sitting her down. Combing her hair out and starting to arrange it. They nattered as she worked. Drank champagne. And spoke with Cath as she got the dress - _and_ the matching agent provocateur lingerie - ready.

 

Evie felt like she was in an alternative universe. With these lovely ladies here to dress her. Have her pampered and preened. She had to say, it wasn’t a luxury she was used too. And Ivy and Cath _sure_ are good at making her laugh.

 

After Ivy’s piled her short hair into a beautiful, low maintenance messy chignon at the back. Securing it with a diamond studded white-gold comb slide. They set about on leaning her back in the chair, to layer on her makeup.

 

She emerges from the make-up chair looking like a glamorous goddess. Muted makeup. A light bronze to sculpt her pale cheeks. A slight shimmer of gold on her eyelids. Big curl of dark lashes. The tiniest slick of eyeliner to make her eyes pierce. And a violent gash of blood red on her lips.

 

“If _he_ messes up your lipstick....” Cath warns cheekily at her as she spreads on the liquid red gloss. “I’m gonna have to personally _kill_ him.” She explains. “This is some of my best work.” She relays with a dimpled grin to Evie. She tries not to smile mid-application process.

 

After they’ve set and misted her face. Evie is told to go and mist herself down with Chanel velvet body oil. So she’s nice and perfumed with coco mademoiselle as she then slips on her beige strapless basque to go under her dress. No stockings. Just sheer silky dress. Cath helps her slip it on. It fits like a glove.

 

It chinches her waist. Tucks her mediocre curves into check. The basque does something amazingly perky to her cleavage. But it doesn’t make her spill out of her dress in a trashy way. She looks demure. But striking. Especially with the outstanding plump red lips.

 

Evie’s luxurious arrangement is finished with some long chandelier Cartier diamond earrings in her ears. They sway when she moves her head. And there’s a wreath of big fat clustered diamonds around her neck like the most beautiful collar of luxury. She almost fainted when she saw it sat in its box.

 

Ivy holds her hand as Cath gets on her knees to help fix her into her heels. Securing the straps across her ankles. Then she’s complete. They finally let her see her full reflection in Kylo’s gigantic wardrobe mirror. She’s certain these two must be witches. They’ve turned her booky sweet self into a walking, sleek, red lipped, Aphrodite.

 

She can’t speak for a full minute. Can’t fathom it’s her. “Ok. You were right. You two are _the_ best.” Evie tells them both. Giving them both a hug. Cath presses a Fendi beige matte clutch into her hands.

 

“I threw a lipstick in there if you need touch ups.” Cath beams. “I’ve a feeling you _might_.” Ivy pipes up.

 

“I can’t Thankyou both enough. If you’re ever my way and need a favour. I’m in your debts.” Evie tells them. No doubt Kylo will have paid extortionate amounts for them to be here.

 

“May take you up on that. Come see that crazy tiny town of yours.” Ivy grins. “It sounds too cute to be true.”

 

“We’ll stay up here and tidy. I heard the shower go not too long ago. I think he’s dressed too. You go and show that man of yours our good work.” Cath smiles. They both lean in and air kiss her before she goes. So she didn’t mess up her lipstick.

 

She gets used to the daggering tall shoes as she walks across the landing and heads down the stairs. One hand on the rail. The other clutching her Fendi. She clacks across to the dining room table. Goes for her purse she deposited there earlier. Searching for some breath mints, some cash, and her chipped compact mirror. The cracked, silver initial engraved one that had once been her Gran’s. She slips all her clunky things into the priceless Fendi.

 

She turns around just in time to see a large, broad shadow stripe down the stairs. Heavy treads clunking down. A pair of polished, mirror shine, black dress shoes come into view, as them does the bottom of a fine pair of black suit trousers. Then there’s a waist, and a tux jacket. A white shirt. Then a bow tie. All coming into view. And then a clean shaven Kylo in a flawless tux is suddenly before her. She beams up at him. He comes to a slow stop at the bottom of the stairs. Dark eyes drinking her in. From her striking sexy heels to the top of her very elegant hair-do.

 

She’s all nervousness again. Swallowing she rests her clammy hands on her thighs. His eyes follow suit and slip to her hips. Before zipping back up to her face. Smirk just starting to curl, tipping the sides of that mouth. And when is eyes meet hers, they are a blazing obsidian with hunger. She’s devouring him with shy eyes too. That big sculpted body in a tux and shirt is making her eyes stick to his frame like magnets. She can’t help it.

 

He looks devastatingly _good._

 

He does up his Armani suit jacket as he crosses to her. Noticing how the heels made her just that little bit taller. Of course, he still towered over her. She looks _damn_ good draped head to toe in _money_. Swarovski in her hair. White gold Cartier on her neck. Matching the warm tone of her dress. And it’s dripping from her earlobes too. He couldn’t help including a big pear diamond cluster dress ring. He can see it sat sparkling on her left hand. The one that held onto her gold clutch.

 

“Beautiful, Kitten.” He says succinctly. Liking that she wore her hair up. She doesn’t do it often. He likes looking at the pretty slopes of her face. Her jaw. _Her neck - the part of her that weakens him it’s so pretty._  The defined carve of her cheekbones. He lets his eyes devour her.

 

He hooks a hand around her waist, feeling the intricate beading around her waist. Pressing cold and bumpy on his palm. He can also feel her hot skin already warming through the silk. He leans in. A pure cloud of Chanel and Jo Malone tickling up his nose. He smiles a kiss onto her cheek. Though what he’s really aching to do is sink his teeth down and suck on that pale pretty neck.

 

He’s tantalising her too. Expensive Frédéric Malle soap. Aqua di Parma and that citrus cinnamon pepper cologne that makes her bite her lip in wanting for him. She’s surprised when he pulls back that he doesn’t hungrily kiss her lips. Ruining her slight slick of gloss over the scarlet-apple red. Her lips part and she grins a toothy smile at him.

 

“ _If_ I kiss you right now...” He husks against her lips. A shiver tingles cool down her spine like a drip of ice water. His hot breath making her red lips go dry. “What’s the chance Cath will march down those stairs and throw something at me?” He asks.

 

She smiles. It dimples her cheeks. “I think... _very_ likely. I’ve been told it’s some of her _best_ work.” She explains.

 

He looks suddenly _hungry_. “You’re telling me.” He mumbles under his breath.

 

Scanning her up and down. Mercilessly torturing himself just even thinking about what brand of lingerie she’s wearing under this masterpiece of a dress. Something demure. Something that will absolutely make his blood boil with wild lust when he gets her home tonight.

 

- _without a single doubt._

His hand slides down and big fingers intertwine with hers. Locking their hands together. Her lithe manicured hands lost in his bear paw of a palm. Tattoos just peek out his cuffs. Twisting up the back of his hands. He smirks down at the sight. She’d opted for a simple French manicure pink on her elegantly short nails. Why is it his exes seemed to be women who favoured trashy acrylic nails that were five inches long. Like talons. It made his skin crawl when they had once raked down his back.

 

Evie’s nails stinging in his shoulders make him shudder. Make him _moan_. Get him weak for her. Makes him fuck her that much harder.

 

“Our cars here shortly. Do you want a drink before we leave. Champagne?” He offers.

 

“I think my head is bubbly enough. Drinking three glasses on a mostly empty stomach with nothing to eat but a few strawberries isn’t a good idea.” She smiles. Putting a hand to her waistline.

 

He likes her like this. It makes him smile. Her, slightly tipsy off champagne. _Happy_. Flawlessly dressed like a goddess. She deserves this. Being pampered.

 

“And um. _Car?”_ She adds.

 

“Chauffeur driven Bentley. Kitten. Go out in style.” He smirks.

 

As he says it, like he summoned it, headlights stripe up the drive and beam through the windows near the hall. The brilliant bright white of headlights peeping in on their conversation.

 

Evie takes a deep breath. She’s a perfect stranger to the society she’s plunging herself into tonight. In truth? She hopes she doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb in this beautiful dress and these amazing heels. She was about to walk into a world populated by highly rich influential people. Men and women who spent what she earned in a year, in _one_ day. People used to bring draped in designer labels. Who could afford $10,000 on _one_ ticket to donate charitably and generously to an inner-city underprivileged kids and orphans program.

 

She suddenly has a flash of queasy homesickness. A pang of sad loss. Wanting her mum here to squeeze her hand and tell her she’ll be alright. She swallows. Kylo’s fingers tighten around hers. She bites her lip and screws her courage to the sticking place.

 

“Ready?” Kylo seeks. Noting how she’s chewing her lower lip. Remembering her lipstick and stopping doing so, after a second.

 

She nods a closed lip smile. “I suppose so.” He brushes a thumb over her hand.

 

Before falling in step with her as they both grab their things and head across to the front door. Ivy and Cath call down their goodbyes. Telling them to have fun. Which makes Evie chuckle as she gathers up her draping skirts as they come to step up and out the front door. She has her Fendi in the other hand. Kylo guides her out. Hand to the small of her back.

 

She thought the heels would be tricky to navigate in. But she’s picking up on walking in the tall things quite quickly. She was used to heels when she worked at Armstrong & Lowery. They were part of her enforced dress code. But since taking her job at the Gazette, no one gave her a snide reprimand about the way she dresses. It was a nice change of pace. A welcome one. Not one she’d known she’d needed.

 

Kylo guides her to the immense hulk of a black Bentley. Gleaming silver and black. The stars above glinting off the immaculate black roof. An attentive chauffeur nods and smiles a good evening at them both. Kylo grasps her hand and helps her sink into the car seat. Holding one hand as she gathers her skirts and gets in. Kylo nods in thanks at their driver as he shuts her door. He rounds the car and gets in opposite her. Slamming the door after he got in beside her.

 

There’s a black glass screen, dividing them from the front seat, for privacy. And soft jazz echoes through the car as they slowly roll into movement, setting off down the drive. There’s chilled champagne - Dom of course - and two glasses should they want it. In a small cubby in front of them. Evie peers out the window as they roar onto the road. Hands sloped delicately into her lap. She’s watching trees flash past in the dark. Overhanging them. The silver summer moon bounces off everything it finds. Drips silver light over her face profile framed the tinted black window.

 

Kylo’s watches her - only for a second. Curiously examining her. He leans over and brings a hand to stroke over a wisp of hair by her ear. She closes her eyes and smiles at his stroking little touch. His big warm fingers tracing her skin.

 

“Looking forward to tonight?” He seeks.

 

She turns her head to look at him. Her earrings jitter. Everything on her sparkles. Her eyes. Her neck. Earrings. It all glimmers at him.

 

“I am.” She answers simply. She wasn’t going to let out to him about her silly notions of not feeling like she’s going to fit in amongst the crowds of rich high fliers. Feeling like a fraudster in her borrowed dress. Knowing she had a measly sum of savings in her bank balance. She was going to this Gala with the premonition that she wouldn’t belong.

 

“It’s a nice way to honour my mum. Going to this Gala tonight.” She explains.

 

Kylo nods. Can’t understand it - as with many of Evie’s fond memories of her mother. He doesn’t know if he’s more puzzled. Or envious. He wonders how the hell someone can think _so well_ of their parents. It’s alien to him. He never gave so much as an afterthought to his. They weren’t worth it.

 

“I know this means a lot to you.” He adds.

 

She smiles. And, to him, she’s never been more _beautiful_.

 

To him, it was just another black tie event. The usual. He had to circulate, schmooze and socialise in his job. He had to put on his charming façade to mingle at events like these. And it was always the same. The same stuffy crowd, in the same hotel ballroom. The usual salmon puff tray of pass h’ors d’oeuvres. Lukewarm champagne mixed with bubbling nausea and repugnance at some of the usual crew of golfing stiffs, bankers, and their transparently awful partners, trophy spouses, who blatantly hate the person they’re married too.

 

And the conversation is always _limp_. And the same. Who was sleeping or cheating with who. Who went to what country club. Or golf club. Who just had their nose or their face, or their tits done - _badly_. Divorces. Money. Golf clubs. Yachts. Cars it’s all these same show-offs trying to outbid each other as to whose richer. One part of society he _hasn’t_ missed in being away.

 

He rather thinks he preferred the socialisation in Silver Pine compared to all that pretentiousness and fake flattery.

 

Tonight was also the night that this Gala would, unfortunately, herald his reemergence into society. Back with a vengeance. Back with a new company. Back - with a pretty writer on his arm.

 

Signalling that Kylo Ren. The most feared man from the urban myths and hushed gossips around these parts, was back from a false life imprisonment for murder.

 

_That_ was sure to set the gossip mills spinning in his wake. He was bracing his serene mood for the first snobby prick or trashy wife who brought that up to his face. There was a time and a place for loosing his temper - tonight in this crowd, on this charity occasion was _not_ it. Not with it being a night he’s devoting for Evie’s sake. He’d answer any prying questions in the ex-con department, with his pointed black ice stare that had been known to both terrify and pacify grown men.

 

He reminds himself that no matter what is said to him tonight. That he will keep his cool. He won’t rage. He’ll think of his source of mellowing calm and latch onto it. Hoping she would keep him afloat when he needed it most.

 

Because she did make him that little bit _calmer_ just by being near.

 

“I suppose this is the first public event you’ve been too in a while aswell.” Evie piped up. _Clever Kitten._

_“That_ it is.” He answers. Meeting her gaze. She nods and holds his hand. Squeezes it back. Her touch on his hand tells him how she cares.

 

“I hope people remember they’re there for charity. Not gossip.” Evie pleads.

 

“Kitten. The kind in that room tonight will be the vicious moneyed sort who _live_ on cruel gossip.” He tells her.

 

She looks frightened. “People do little else than talk, I guess.” She gulps nervously.

 

“You’re beautiful. You’re mine. And you’re my date. That’s all _they_ need to know. I don’t give a _fuck_ about anything else they say.” He impresses upon her. Kissing her hand where it’s locked with his. “I’ll be next to you _all_ night.” He promises.

 

She feels bolstered in that regard. Though she knew he wouldn’t be the type to throw her to the mercy of the wolves of Wall Street. So to speak. He’d be with her tonight. By her side. Her pillar. Her strength.

 

“Can’t go leaving my Kitten unattended now can I?” He smirks a little. She blushes through her bronzer. She shuffled across to kiss at the fine shaven plane of his cheek. Inhaling the musk of the shaving balm he pats on his skin. She swipes a thumb over his facial scar. Feeling it’s smooth pink ridge under her fingers. He was so handsome. Scar included. She couldn’t imagine his face without it.

 

“You know. Cath’s not here now. I could finally _kiss_ you.” He huffs against her neck. Tasting her perfume on his tongue. Along with the salt soap tang of her skin. He starts to suck a red bite into her pale corded throat. Under her earring.

 

She gasps. “You could...” She whispers breathily. Feeling her skin flush with his lips on it. Flourishing down her neck. The Cartier wreath feeling ice cold in comparison to her burning skin. “But you’d mess up my gloss...”

 

He turns her head back towards him. Thumb on her chin, two fingers under. Tipping her face in his direction. He leans in and hungrily kisses her. Like he’s been _longing_ too. She tastes like lipstick and the faded sting of champagne. She welcomes his glorious kiss. Squeaks when he curls a hand across her hip and yanks her almost on top of his lap. He’d give the world to slide his hand up her dress right now. He settles instead for grabbing her beaded round thigh over the dress.

 

“If I had more time. I’d finger your pussy right now, until your cum drips down this leather car seat.” He huffs into her lips. Two seconds away from pressing her flat to the bucket seats, and taking her.

 

She catches her breath. “We can’t turn up at this fundraiser looking all rumpled. Can we?” She asks. More like tells him. Inferring it.

 

He growls into her neck. An annoyed deep grunt of “Mmmm.” Near her ear. “You annoyingly have a point.” He lets out. Squeezing her ass and depositing her back safely in her seat.

 

Lust brimming at the surface of his skin tending every muscle, reminds him the last time they’d fucked, was ‘ _that_ ’ night with Ben after the Bake Sake debacle. His aching groin, burning at his guts, lets him know how long it been since he’s fucked his sweet little kitten. _Too long._

 

He can’t _help_ it. The smell of her perfume. Glint of diamonds catching light. Watching the corner of her rosebud red smile. It’s all getting him stiff and hard behind the prison of his Armani suit trousers.

 

She reaches across and gently rubs away a sticky smear of her red from the corner of those kissable lips, with her thumb. Removing the stray specs of glossy glitter that stuck to him. His cavernous ribcage chest swelled as she touched him. Molten black eyes burning holes into her skin. That look of his always did send shivers down her spine. Had done from the day she met him.

 

He holds her wrist. Closes his eyes. And kisses her thumb. Those soft lips of his will be the end of her. She’s certain of it. He lets his lips skim across her hand. Feeling her scented skin brush his mouth. Savouring her. Knowing their evening after this will be rounds of mingling and keeping himself in check. He could take the time now to let himself decompress before he has to face that polite ballroom setting.

 

Anyone else would be nervous about going into that room tonight. But not him. He doesn’t do nervous. He knows who he is. Knows the wrath, wealth, strength and power that he carries with him. It’s incontestable. He was certain this crowd is going to be scared by the mere sight of him, and the weight of his terrible reputation. CEO. Ruthless. Cunning. Filthy rich.

 

They both turn to look out the window when city lights start to stripe and flash. Peeking through the tinted Bentley windows. Starting to come into the high rises of town. Night lit city standing tall and silver-wealthy above them. Lights towering up above into the sinking black pit of the sky. They both know it won’t be long til they get there.

 

Kylo tucks their joined hands into his lap. Resting on his solid big thigh. They watch as their sleek car pulls up to the semicircle of phenomenally expensive sports and numerous chauffeur driven black cars all clustered together around the valet spot in front of the glittering grand hotel.

 

Evie shifts in her seat to peer up at the high class edifice. It looked exactly like she remembered it. Still big and intimidating - even now that she wasn’t six anymore. There was a chandelier in the domed lobby entryway. The doors thrown open to let in the high class guests. Everything washed gold in the light. All the cars. The people walking in; ladies dripping with diamonds, men in bespoke tuxes of every colour. All drawn to this golden building like gauzy moths to a flame. The night is still muggy and humid. But the brisk chill that pricks at exposed skin lets everyone know autumns coming in on swift wings soon.

 

Their car rolls to a easing stop. At the bottom of the thick red carpeted hotel steps. Bell boys in red livery jackets and white gloves are there to whisk their doors open. Kylo kisses Evie’s hand once more before they both exit the car on their separate sides. The cloaking cold-rush of night air wraps her as she gets out the car and strides around to catch Kylo’s waiting outstretched hand.

 

The air bites at her legs and arms. She slides her hand into his big grip. She holds her skirts again as she picks her way carefully up the stairs. Kylo’s supporting her free hand. Clutch safely tucked under her elbow. They come to the tiled, flawless lobby. All marble, tiles, and stiff pristine elegance. So pristine, dust would’ve been too scared to land on anything.

 

The lobby is decadent. Warm white clacking marble floor. Old colonial walnut tables proudly crown the oval reception area. Polished to a mirror shine with orchids arrangements in vases dotted everywhere. Chandeliers bigger than her car sparkle like shimmering rain on the vaulted ceiling. People mingle and mill about. But all the black tie crowd are slowly filtering into the signposted ballroom for the orphans fundraiser Gala.

 

Evie notices how a fair few eyes linger on Kylo as they walk in. She wants to say it’s because he is a tall powerful man. And his presence is unmissable. But when they get past, she hears hissing whispers and murmurs under breath.

 

She lets those harsh hushes roll off her back. Slip down and off her shoulder blades and her beaded dress like honey. She drops holding her skirts. Let’s them billow around her knees. Steels her back taller and squeezes Kylo’s hand proudly. Keeping a small smile tugging on her red lips. She wouldn’t shrink down tonight. She would do him proud.

 

They come through the double doors. And Evie is hit with a scene from her past. The huge vista of a grand ballroom. Exactly as she remembered it in her mind. The golden gild on the walls. And curling at the golden mould on the two massive chandeliers presiding over the room like crystal drops of suspended rain. Of course, the crowd had changed, and this now isn’t the biggest poshest room her six year old self had ever seen, or been into. She wasn’t going to be twirling on the dance floor in her blue-curtain cinders dress with her mother here tonight.

 

In the ballroom when she was young, her presence was met with snide revulsion and irritation on snobby people’s scrunched faces made her know that the high flying crowd didn’t approve of a child being at the gathering. Annie Winslow took in in her stride. She was like that. Always had been. This benefit was _for_ the children after all. She reminded people of that; smiling her cherry-pink unflappable beaming grin at them. And thanking them _so_ sweetly and kindly for donations to children who had less than their very lucky good selves. Made them blush red in embarrassment at their nasty words in looking down on her daughter.

 

Evie remembered how that night, her mum was in her most expensive dress from the boutique in their small town. Saved up for it for weeks. A vintage print with red poppies on. She wore green heels that were scuffed - if they were scrutinised closely enough. She’d curled her hair. And spent ages on Evie’s too. Laden with little bow clips. The fancy gold ones from the chemists. That was all they could afford.

 

At the end of the night, as everything was clearing, hotel staff mingling around. Doing the hard chore labour of the ballroom turnaround. Evie and her mum twirled on that dance floor. They twirled and danced and laughed like mad things. They imagined the music. It was better that way. And it was as if the whole night, the whole room, as if all of it had been crafted entirely for them. What made it even better was when the remaining double bass player still packing up his instrument, saw them, and took it out again for them, strumming something upbeat for them to dance too.

 

Evie remembered how her cheeks _hurt_ from smiling so much. They hurt the next day. She aches from laughing - they’d danced like looneys and there was _such_ simple joy in that. She remembers how she watched her blue dress twirl. As her mums own mousy brown locks did into her own smiling mouth. White teeth glimmering in her grin.

 

At the end of the night, when it was very, _very_ late. Evie’s mum draped her in her cardigan and carried her tired kid to the car. Her podgy little sleeping hand still doggedly clutching the rose a kind waiter had made for her out of a paper napkin and a toothpick.

 

Evie looks at the ballroom now. Differently attired to the place she last saw it as. It’s modern. Glimmering in a low light. Pillars of flowers on each table. Golden chairs set around tables. A stage with an orchestra band up near the podium for the auction later on. Some soft thumping jazz is playing. Some couples already waltzing on the big square dance floor.

 

She doesn’t realise she’s stood in the doorway. Watching a few couples gently step and sway. And she’s nearly _suffocating_. Throat cloying with emotion.

 

Cause all she can see instead of what’s there now, is a watery picture memory, like an old flickering faded film reel, of her and her mother twirling together on that floor, decades ago. Dresses swaying. Hair flying. Laughing like mad things. Leaping around in a ballroom to one kind lingering musicians notes, and a bright golden fairytale of a night that belonged solely to them.

 

Sometimes, even now and again, she still misses her mother _so_ terribly much. It knocks her breath clean out of her. She places a hand to her weak middle. Feeling suddenly mushy.

 

Kylo’s hand nudges into her back. His body clips into hers and she’s jolted out of her reveries. She blinks and goes to clutch his arm that’s gently on her lower back. Touching over the base of her spine with a firm caress. She swallows and her earrings jitter when she turns to look over at him.

 

“Sorry-“ She swallows. Knowing she’d gotten distracted. Hand clutched over her middle still. Her voice almost choking up. “Old ghosts.” She chuckles in half-pain, half-amusement. She turns and cosies a little into the big sure-strong body beside her, and the bronzed black eyes that are fixed on her with concern. His hand comes round her hip. He quickly kisses her temple.

 

“Your mom?” He enquires. Knowing she had memories planted here, at this event. She confirms with a shaky nod and a deep breath. “You alright?” He seeks, lips still against the side of her forehead.

 

She clutches gently onto his arm. Turning to face him. His hand slides off her hip. Cupping the back of it now. Stood face-to-face. She would never indulge in overly showy affectionate touches that might make him uncomfortable. She didn’t indulge much in that type of affection in public herself either. She holds his arm as he cupped her, and nods with a smile. Meaning it this time.

 

“I’m ok.” She persuades. “I’m wearing this beautiful dress. I’m in this great ballroom for a good cause. And I’m with _you_.” She smiles. Softly pressing a flat hand to his lapel. His crisp suit was soft. But her hand still feels his hard solid body underneath all this black-tie and formal etiquette.

 

He smiles gently. And that’s all she needs to see. “Shall we find our seats?” She dares. He nods. Tucking her arm in his and leads her down the steps onto the big wide floor of the ballroom where the many round tables sat. Perfectly dressed in white too. Smoothly made and laden with glinting cutlery and glasses. As if they were up on the dress code too. A huge pillar of Ivy, white lilies, ivory freesias and eucalyptus spills over the middle of each of the tables. A flickering candle sat in a glass hurricane vase there too. The flower arrangements must be even taller than her, Evie thinks. Weighs twice as much too.

 

The whole room is rich - everything and everyone in it is gilded and dripping wealth. Everyone reeks of money. And Evie has never felt more out of place. An imposter in her dress and this false air of riches she’s showing. But then Kylo’s hand rubs against her fingers. And it bolsters her into a smile.

 

People here whisper too. No one would dare approach Kylo of course - that’s not these people’s way. They gossip and snarl rumours from afar. When backs were turned. Kylo meets too long glances people give him with a hard veiled stare of his own. _This_ was the glare that saw him through prison. Made sure people didn’t fucking try and cross him. He softens it a little - there was a time and place for that violent look, and here in polite high society _wasn’t_ it.

 

He leads Evie to their seats. It was a good table. Up with the society bigwigs. He paid extra for that. Gave an _obscene_ donation for the privilege. Snagging him and Evie great seats, almost centre stage, in the ballroom. A waiter comes by and gives them each a flute of tangy champagne. Kylo seems surprised when he tastes it and finds it to be a good vintage.

 

It’s not long before others descend on their table - the auction was soon to start. Kylo knows some big names but not faces. He introduces Evie to all at their table. Head Bankers. CEO’s, Managers of international companies. Evie feels a little small telling them all she was _just_ a writer and crime novelist. But the way Kylo warmly introduces her as his date absolutely makes her _melt_. They settle in their seats as the auction begins. There were two of them taking place tonight to raise donations. This was the first.

 

Evie skims the brochure. Mostly things that don’t appeal to her like ming vases. Or stuffy oil portraits. And an array of old folios. Some furniture. But what did catch her attention was a simple mustard painting on canvas oil. It wasn’t an artist she’s heard of. It was a beautiful modern oil of two tulips. Stylised. One red. One blue. On a golden yellow background swirled with darker yellow vines. It was simple. But effectively cute. The buttery yellow of it reminds her of happiness. Makes her feel hopeful. Makes her think of home.

 

She remarks to herself that was probably a stupid thing to to feel about a painting. She looks at the lot number. And her eyes widen at the expected bid starting price. It was _five_ figures. And on the high end of that spectrum too.

 

Kylo leans over and slings an arm to the back of her chair. “Something good? You’ve been on that page for five solid minutes.” He enquires. Granite black eyes finding hers.

 

“I thought this was a nice piece. I’ve never heard of a Clément Ridley before.” She tells him. Going back to the brochure to browse. Kylo puts a hand over hers.

 

“You want it?” He asks calmly. As if he wasn’t talking about buying her a $80k painting just cause she thought it was happy. It was as if he was just doing something as banal as offering her milk for her coffee.

 

She blinks at him. Making sure she heard him right. She gets all flustered and blushes. “ _No_.” She quickly but gently surmises. “Don’t mistake me. I couldn’t be _more_ grateful Kylo. But you’ve spent far too much money on me the other day. _And_ tonight with this dress....” She responds.

 

“You deserved it.” He levels coolly. Curling smirk starting to come into play.

 

Evie sips her champagne. Blushing. Shaking her head and moving onwards on the brochure page. She was sat facing away from the stage as she read. He lounged facing it, and smirked.

 

She’s such a _terrible_ liar. He can always tell when she lies. It’s easy enough for his hyper vigilant senses to spot.

 

He waits patiently. Biding his time until a certain lot item came up. Evie watches as two assistants behind the podium speaker carried on a big square painting. The yellow one.

 

“Bidding starts at $80,000, any advances ladies and gentlemen?” The speaker asks.

 

Evie’s agog when Kylo suavely flickers his hand up. The speaker accepts his bid. And there’s three others from surrounding tables. Kylo bashes them all way past their budgets. And finally snags the painting for himself with final bids at $180k.

 

The bang of the gavel makes Kylo turn to her with a smirk as they both applaud and bring on the next item. It was a record high for the items on sale so far. Kylo leers across at her.

 

“It’s no big deal baby. Tax write off.” He shrugs. “Worthy cause _and_ I caught you staring at it. You’re adorable, and _terrible_ at bluffing.” He tells her. Smirking. Bringing her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. That big cool Cartier ring of hers brushing at his upper lip. She smiles.

 

But quickly closes the brochure just to be safe. _Or else_ he might buy her more things. He knows she’s grateful and a little astounded. That makes her all the _sweeter to spoil_. It also makes him smirk wider. Almost chuckling. They go back to watching the auction.

 

After which there is a short speech from a charity executive about the importance of their donations and their main benefactors. Evie’s not surprised when they name Kylo among the cherished list of generous donations. She side eyes him with a smile as they applause the generous roll of names. When his eyes meet hers, it’s like striking a spark. She’d sensing that if she wasn’t sat down, she’d have swooned. Evie knows he came here tonight, slightly for her benefit. And she adores that about him.

 

They’re then served a light dinner. Three courses, a salad, some fillet of fish in creamy wine sauce, and some cheese platters for afters with the coffee. The room buzzed with activity. People going and fro-ing from the bar out back. The big band plays instrumental calm jazz as they eat. Kylo is the charming talk of their table. He talks business. His company. Makes connections. Charms. He makes people laugh. Evie can see how he fits so well into this setting. She feels fuzzy-warm and impossibly enamoured with him. Her handsome man in his gorgeous suit and tie.

 

However a slight percentage of that keen amour may have been due to the _amount_ of champagne she’s sunk tonight. She’s probably approaching a magnum litres-worth of it by now.

 

She makes some good connections too, amazingly. When she goes to the bar to fetch them a drink as coffees still being served, she bumps into some old charity worker friends, who introduce her to some newspaper owners and some prominent magazine publishers.

 

-Unknowing that Kylo doesn’t let her _out_ of his sight for even a second as she goes off. Watching over her. He gains some comfort from knowing where she is. His Kitten was _always_ under his protection.

 

She returns with their drinks, and three promising business cards. They sink some more alcohol, and Kylo continues to charm the table. The dancing starts up again. Some more couples twirl and sway together. Their table splits as some go to drink. Some - _thankfully_ go home. An embittered man and his sulking trophy wife from their table, quit the scene. Kylo’s got a feeling they’ll be at each other’s throats on the way home. They were skirting dangerously close to divorce. One of those cliché married couples that make each other miserable and argue for the fun of it.

 

Frank Sinatra is being played by the orchestra when Kylo stands, gracefully buttons his jacket, and offers Evie his hand. Smiling lightly down at her, palm upturned and open for her.

 

“Dance with me?” He seeks.

 

She looks up at him and gingerly accepts his hand. He pulls her to a stand. Leading her carefully to the polished wood floor. Not far from their table. Formal slow dancing. Gave him an excuse to get her real close. One hand over her waist. The other holding up in a dance pose. Hers goes to hook at his shoulder. Their faces are so close, Evie can nearly _taste_  the velvety red Malbec on his tongue. Up close, he’s doubly intoxicating.

 

She sinks her eyes into his dark ones. And they slowly step in time to the music. Swaying lightly together. He loves how expensive she smells. All perfume and floral nectar sweetness emanating from her neck.

 

“When was the last time you danced?” Evie asks him gently. He can’t answer that. His rhythm is easy and skilled. He seems relaxed. But she supposed that could be his convincing mask at play.

 

“Never really have before.” He tells her. “Didn’t like any of my exes enough.” He awards stiffly. A trace of venom in his voice. He felt he should explain.

 

“They’d come to these things with me purely to flaunt themselves at the next rich prick they could fuck. They wanted to come here to show off their tacky designer dresses.” He tells.

 

Evie raises her brows. “I see.” She breathes out gently.

 

“They used me just as much as I used them, Kitten. It was _all_ business. Both knew where we stood. I didn’t care about them. They didn’t care about me. It wasn’t like that.” He reiterates.

 

He looks down at her. His eyes could almost be warm. She suspects they are dangerously close to being called _soft_ even.

 

“Just fucking. No feeling. They got money. I got sex.” He answers. Speaking softly so their conversation wasn’t overheard.

 

Evie nods. “Your exes don’t sound like very nice people.” She admits.

 

“They weren’t.” He makes plain. And nor was he.

 

“I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve danced?!” Evie pipes up kindly. He was inhumanely skilled.

 

He smirks. Pulling them even closer. Their chests touched. Brushing. His bear paw spread wider out on her back. Those soft velvet black eyes turn hot. His mouth is right at her ear. Gazing over each other’s shoulders. She shudders when his blazing breath hitting, skimming on her neck makes her tingle.

 

“I’m rather enjoying it myself.” He says with a calm drawling smile. Instigating intimate closeness. Caressing her back with minute touches that makes her skin prick with heat and passion. The way his hand shifts against her dress had her realising now long it’s been since they’ve last been carnal together.

 

“Until I step on your toes and ruin the moment...” She jokes. Kylo’s barely there smirk tips slightly.

 

“You’re doing real good for a first timer.” He drawls in a dark purr. Pressing their hips even tighter to touch. Bodies pressing together. She can feel those sinful hips gyrate with her own. “Great dancing is all about keeping rhythm _and_  finding the right partner.” He adds.

 

His hand slips hot onto her back. His hot hands - the ones she’s willing to bet are the same size as great big baseball mitts - tease the bare skin. Feeling the nobbled vertebrae of her spine under her warm pale skin. She feels her mouth go dry forcing her into wetting her matte red lips. The gloss had mostly worn away now. Both of them could feel the currents of sexual tension sparking between them. It had been simmering low all night. Wondering about what was going to burst out of them once they got home. What hungry touches they’d both be aching for. And it was an ache. An insane _need_ they had for each other.

 

“You’re blushing again, Kitten.” He whispers proudly to her. Smiling over her shoulder. But letting his lips graze near the top of her ear. She realises that bloods filling her cheeks hot. She knows it’s because they’re pressed close. Dancing. Heat of each other’s bodies making them yearn for things they can’t indulge in, in public. But they can _think_ it all they like with their hands clutching onto one another’s bodies.

 

She smiles shyly. Ducking her head. Her hand stroking his strong solid shoulder. Swaying past other older couples who are all dancing slow like them.

 

Elbows rubbing and chatter fluttering to the ceiling now dinners over. Trays of finger desserts circulate to the tables. Petite fours of dainty French puddings. He watches people pluck at them. Listens how sharp hyena laughter from one table ripples claps sharp to the ceiling. Kylo scans the room as they twirl and step around the floor gently. Dark eyes drinking everything in. Who flocked to who. Gaggles of friends laughing together around tables and drinks. Some show off stuffy assholes working on their golf poses at the far back. Stood up miming they had clubs. He discerns the whole room. Society was always the same. Even from his years apart from it. Especially this high up. _Nothing_ ever changes.

 

He’s adept at charming this crowd. He’s used to it. It’s like stretching out old unused muscles. He had to swap violence for charm. He could do so in the blink of an eye. His charm for this room was superficial. Evie feels truly humbled to know she’s seen glimmers of his true, calmer self.

 

The song ends. And there’s a burst of slight applause. They slow to a stop, clapping their thanks to the band. Who quickly progressed into another slow song. Kylo turns to her as they’re applauding.

 

“I could use another drink... how about you?” He seeks. She nods.

 

“I’m gasping for a glass of red.” She smiles brightly.

 

He tucks her hand in his. Great minds and all that. They cut a swathe through the room. Heading for the adjoining anteroom. In the direction of the bar. People mingle around them. Until Kylo is stopped by some familiar faces that leap at the chance to greet him. Turns out to be his shareholders. They seemed genuinely impressed to see him here. He introduces Evie to them. They all talk warmly about books after she mentioned she’s a writer. Kylo looks down at her. Watching her bright smile as she talks excitedly with them. He likes seeing her happy.

 

He is waylaid by more people. Evie gently touches his arm and takes the chance to excuse herself briefly, to head to the restroom. Kylo eyes her back as she goes. Not liking that she’d be out his sight. But he couldn’t do anything about that now. They were in the bar area, which was laden with settees and chairs surrounding low coffee tables. The terrace doors nearby thrown open, giving overlooking access to a patio and manicured hotel garden strung with lights, and in the night air sounds the pattering water of a far off big stone fountain. Some mingled outside. But the chill of the air eventually drove them in.

 

Evie heads to the five star ladies restroom. All opulent red carpet entryway and gold trim with marble floors. She spends a penny, and when she’s just finished lathering up her hands with expensive clementine, hotel spa soap. She dries them. And then roots around in her Fendi for her lipstick to touch it up. She’s not paying attention to around her. Heels clack on the marble floor.

 

Only she notices when a far off strike of heels hitting marble comes right up close and stops near her.

 

She takes notice when a plume of rotten candy-sweet sickly perfume clouds across to her. She looks up in the mirror into the face of a scantily clad, tanned, young woman in a revealing ball gown. Her brown eyes piercing daggers at Evie in the mirror. One long red-talon nailed hand on her hip as she stands there looking like a enviable Instagram model.

 

She had curves and legs for days. Even in her big platform heels. She has a bodaciously voluptuous ass straining her dress with her fashionably big thighs. Her dress plunged to well beyond the valley of her tanned cleavage. Her dress was a criss-cross of straps bulging over her skin. A chunky silver necklace is linked fat around her neck. Her face is enviably heart shaped. And she has a long mane of raven beachhead waves kinking down to her waist. Her makeup is heavy and smoky. A dark sharp black lining her feline ember eyes. Her lips are bee stung and candy floss pink.

 

And she’s glaring as if Evie had personally spat in her face. She narrows her eyes.

 

Evie nervously lowers her lipstick. Swallows. “I’m....sorry. Can I-help you?” She asks.

 

The tanned viper sneers. “You’re here with Kylo. _Right?_ ” She asks stiffly. Her American voice was so slightly adenoidal. Whiny even.

 

Evie turns to look over her shoulder at her. Hands going to her clutch bag. She doesn’t know if she should answer that. It doesn’t feel safe to. She dares to be polite to the stranger scowling stroppily at her.

 

“I am.” Evie tells with an unsure tone. Not knowing where this was headed. The model viper with poisonous eyes scans her up and down bitchily. And then she scoffs a nasty smirk.

 

“You know he’s using you. Honey?” She tells. As if it was obvious to everyone, except her. As if she was being sniggered at behind her back.

 

Evie’s mouth gapes. “ _Excuse_ me?” Her brow furrows.

 

The viper tilts her head at Evie. “If anyone would know him. It’d be me. I’m his _ex_.” She beams in pride. Taking pleasure in Evie’s pain.

 

She feels her heart sink. Like a stone in a pond. Cracking under duress.

 

She’s speechless. Her head is full of words. But they zip and crack like lightning. She can’t find any of her courage at all. It’s lost. Locked away.

 

“Frankly. I think mine and Kylo’s relationship isn’t exactly the _business_ of a perfect stranger.” She holds out firmly. Not sharply. Not unkindly. Evenly. Even though she feels like she crumple the second she takes a step.

 

She rolls her eyes. “ _Sweetie_ , I’ve ridden his dick better and harder than anyone _ever_ has.” She coo’s.

 

“Gotta say though. His twins not a bad fuck either. Ben brought me here tonight.” She leers. Looking bored of this conversation already, as she flexes her hands and examines her nails.

 

Evie feels like maggots are burrowing and squirming at her stomach. She’s not surprised. This woman looks exactly the cheap type to latch onto Ben and his money.

 

“Don’t tell me you actually thought he was interested. Sweetie the only thing that could ever want from _you_ , is your pussy.” She raises an eyebrow down at her demure golden dress.

 

“Can’t see why the hell he’d want to fuck _you_. You don’t have any sort of body to pull off that $40k Valentino dress. You just don’t have the face, body _or_ attitude for it.” She smiles. Sickly sweet.

 

“Word to the wise...” She suggests. Sauntering up to the mirror. Stepping past Evie. Fluffing up her hair and pouting her big lips as she posed for her reflection.

 

“I’d crawl back to whatever fucking hick town he dredged you out of. You’re not the kind of girl he’ll _ever_ need. I highly suggest you leave him to the girls who _can_ handle a guy like him.” She says.

 

Arching her ass out obscenely as she leans to the mirror. Displaying her almost bare back in her slutty dress. Layering on more sticky slimy pink gloss on her lips. Smacking them together when she’s done. She wasn’t even bothering to look at her now.

 

Evie shuts her bag and heads for the door. Clenching her teeth. Not giving this harpy the pleasure of seeing her cry too. She’s already seen how she’s shredded her happy feelings to strips.

 

The vile viper that she was, busies herself plumping her hair and adjusting her cleavage in the mirror when calls after her retreat.

 

“Don’t worry honey. I’ll be getting him _back_  real soon. I do _miss_ that perfect dick of his.” She smiles as Evie pushes open the restroom door.

 

She pauses for a second. Letting the foul words wash over her. These ones didn’t roll like honey off her back. They stabbed through her muscles like knives. Daggers into her skin. Sharp and brutal. As was doubtless the bimbos intention. She walks out. A stupid girlish laugh of amusement follows her.

 

She quickly leaves the restroom. Strides quick for the terrace doors. Fleeing. Not letting her lip wobble or her face scrunch with tears until she came to the stinging cold of outside. Her breath explodes from her in a rush. Tears spear painful at her eyes. She walks crunching the gravel path laces through the gardens, until the wind stings her skin numb. And she’s stood by the large marble fountain. Far away from the doors so no-one can hear her sobs.

 

She listens to the spit of the fountain rush from the spouting statue as it trickles back down to the lapping pond it’s sourced from. The twinkle lights and serene shaped trees around her blur to unfocused dots of light. Her champagne fizzes and boils in her roiling stomach. Her dress pinches her ribs. Her lip wobbles.

 

The hand holding her Fendi droops down to her side. Her other stems the tears and tries to save her makeup from ruin. She swallows down the cloying spur of tears sticking dry and unwanted in her throat. Kylo’s ex was a vicious pit bull. And her cackling words are still snarling around and swirling in her head. She feels sick. Feels like she wants to stay out here.

 

Away from crowds that might suffocate her. Away from the string music. The noise. The glamour of snarling trophy wives. And the stuffy dry boring old men that are richer than god, and only care about their golf score, or their yacht, of their 401k.

 

The wind curls at her hair. Tugging at her crushing dress too. She wipes a finger under each eye. Wet fan of eyelashes beading salty tears onto her digit. She wipes away her grief. Bullies always got to her. She’d never been much good at standing her ground. Besides....Kylo was probably wondering where she was. She had to go back. Yet her feet don’t want to move. She’s rooted to this gravel path.

 

She opens her eyes and smoothed a hand down the front of her dress. She takes a few lungfuls of refreshing garden scented air that chills her lungs to ice. Then she turns on her heel to go back inside. She just shifts on the gravel, when more of it crunches to her side. She twists around to see a hulking shadow pasted body plastered to the nearest gravel walkway. Concealed in a spot where the light doesn’t reach him.

 

The only light comes from the tip of a cigarette as it’s dragged. Orange lighting up a macabre set of cold dead hickory eyes. A black shaggy mane. A goatee. She watches smoke curl from a very familiar set of big shaped lips.

 

_Ben_.

 

Her body tenses up. Here he was looking like a dreadful nightmare in an obsidian Brioni suit. With a white shirt undone to his sternum. Bow tie a flapping limp scarf around his tanned - scarred - neck. The wound fresh. Pink. And raised. Still wearing raw looking stitches. One hand in his trouser pocket. He drags deep then lifts his cigarette away. Down to his side. Stepping into speckled light from the hotel. Edging close. But not too close.

 

Looking at her with the same ultimate cold poison she received from his trashy date. He examines her like she’s dirt on his pristine shoes. But the glimmer scalding in his eyes scares her. His stance scares her. There’s a literal _lust_ for murder in his eyes reserved for her. And her alone.

 

“Didn’t think Kylo’s one to let his _pet_ off their leash.” He snaps lowly. Nastily. Taking another drag into his nose. Puffing it away and ditching his cig.

 

She blinks over at him. Trying not to look too cold. She wasn’t entertaining more poison tonight. She’s had enough.

 

“I only came out for some air, Ben. I’ll get out your way.” She says. Moving off.

 

His words jab into her like a rusty butchers hook jamming into a slab of dead bloody meat. They tug. And wrench. And _hurt_.

 

“Run away little girl.” He snarls at her. Starting to ebb around the fountain. Eyeing at her beaded golden back with a glare. Swallowed up with half lust. Half hatred.

 

She turns and furrows her brow at him. A deep crease crowning her eyebrows. Her earrings jitter. Sparkling off the garden twinkle lights.

 

He glares. The way his feet slowly crunch the gravel makes the hair on her neck needle straight like pricking pins at her nape.

 

“I know you’re hurting. But I tried to stop _anyone_ coming to any harm. That includes you.” She holds out firm.

 

Ben sneers. Scoffs. “You actually _fucking_ believe that self-righteous bullshit, don’t you?”

 

He eyes her up and down. Licks his lips. Then his jaw clenched. Now he’s closer she can smell the drink fumes coming off him. She can see how his pupils are blown into massive black discs. And lust has nothing to do with it. He’s high. Or drunk. Or both. _Probably both._

 

“Run-the-fuck _along_. I don’t have the patience to deal with your innocent, doe eyed, word vomit about how the world I s a soft, gentle-kind place.” He growls meanly. Both hands in his pockets. He stalks closer and closer.

 

She feels her earlier grief choke her again. Only now it’s mingling with sour cold fear. Like acid in her belly.

 

“You and your poisonous date are a match made in heaven.” Evie declares before she turns to stride away again. She only makes it three steps and he’s calling after her.

 

“Don’t mistake me _babe_. I brought her along cause she wants to dig her claws into Kylo again. Then I’m gonna take her home. Fuck her. And throw her out like the cheap goddamn trash she is. Let me know when Kylo does the same to your naïve little _cunt_.” He snaps.

 

She chokes on her retort. “Please. Ben. Just _stop_ it.” She breathes out. Tears coming. He tilts his head nastily. His foul rage unchecked.

 

“You’re lucky your protectors watching otherwise I wouldn’t be so kind.” He tells her. “I’d rip a fuck hole in that dress and use it right here. Then when I’m done I’ll give you a scar to match _mine_.” He roars at her.

 

She doesn’t know if it’s fear or grief is what’s paralysing her. They were closer to the hotel now. And sure enough his words ring true. A big black hulking pillar of a strapping broad man stands by the window in his tux. His Twin. Lording over the crowds. Presiding over the garden.

 

Kylo _was_ watching after all.

 

His expression veiled. Lips an unamused grim line. Eyes like two shards of black dull stone. Intently looking in Evie’s and Ben’s direction. _Observant eyes always watching._ _  
_

“I think I preferred you when you _faked_ being nice to me.” Evie says back to the twin behind her.

 

“I only ever liked and wanted what’s between your legs.” He explains lowly.

 

Tears drip at her cheeks. She nods.

 

“You know... I believe that.” Evie shoots back before she finally manages to stride away.

 

Not listening to anymore. She _couldn’t_ take it. She was one nasty snarl away from crumbling to pieces. It’s all too much. Suffocating. Crushing. This room. These people.

 

“You’ve turned Kylo into a fucking soft _pussy_. Don’t expect the same from me.” He calls after her. She ignores him and comes inside.

 

She looses sight of Kylo for a moment as she weaves through the crowds to get to the floor to ceiling window where he’s stood. She ducks her head as she walks, and prays her makeup isn’t too smudged. Hoping her mascara isn’t a drippy blur of black ebbing trickles staining her cheeks.

 

She comes within metres now, of where Kylo is stood alone. He twists his head and takes in how she wipes away tears. Her face turned downwards. His eyes zip to the hulking twin of his who stumbles in the terrace doors behind her. Slamming back a whiskey that wasn’t his from a passing waiters tray. Jerking his suit’s arm over his mouth to wipe it after. He was _wasted_.

 

Evie raises her head and meets Kylo’s eyes. Red rimmed around her flawless makeup. He goes to move. But Evie watches in sick horror as a red taloned set of nails on a tanned hand scratch over his fix shoulder. And then there she is. The viper. _His ex._

 

Beautiful. Raven haired. Curves in all the right places. Evie stops. And her knees tremble. _Did she have to witness this_ _now too?_ _  
_

The model slash bimbo slides her nails to rake across his chest, glaring her pink grin smug at Evie. A proud ‘ _see? I told you.’_ Wicked gleam in her eyes as she throws herself in his arms.

 

She walks around him and pushes her overly large tanned tits into his chest. Hands smoothing over his neck and lapels. Scratching skin. Sexily mussing his hair at the nape of his neck. _They look right together,_ Evie thinks. Two raven haired gods.

 

“Hi _handsome_.” She flirts. All batting lashes and no knickers.

 

“Do you remember me? Cause my cunt _sure_  as hell remembers you.” Her hand inched south to his crotch. In full public view. Tanned hand and blood nails stark against his suit trousers.

 

Kylo’s eyes could’ve _killed_. Like Medusa. How she wasn’t stone was a miracle.

 

He grabs her wrist and kept her from touching him. Not enough to make a scene. But powerful enough to get across his point.

 

“You got a second to get your fingers and those stupid fake tits off me before I snap that hand off, and shove it down your throat til you _choke_ on it.” He growls lowly at her with calm rage in his eyes.

 

She staggers back. Her face a picture of offence and shock. Men never turned her down. This would be a first. Her charms being ineffective.

 

A wave of whiskey fumes clouds Evie’s nose from behind. And Ben stumbles onto the scene and onto this little sordid ménage a trios display, featuring his trashy date. Ben did honestly think Kylo would be sore and enraged, to find out that his Twin is fucking his one of his exes.

 

_Until_ he sees Kylo’s shoving away the slut like garbage. Stepping across to Evie. He can’t fathom this. Is blows his mind. _Kylo has no heart to give her._ _S_ _o what the fuck was all this?_

Kylo storms to Kitten and slips a hand to her waist. Scanning her up and down. Trying to take in the reason as to her concealing tears from him.

 

His answer is his stumbling, raging, foul Twin lingering behind her.

 

“Well. Ain’t this all _fucking_ cosy?” Ben snips at Kylo. Another tumbler of whiskey to hand. Where he was almost too far gone to stand straight. It slops onto his shoes. Streaking the pristine marble floor a speckled amber brown.

 

Kylo’s glare at Ben should’ve scared the idiot. It was one of the _last_ things that some men had seen in this earth, before Kylo typically sent them to _hell_.

 

He zeroes in on Ben’s pupils. His clammy skin. And his vile breath.

 

“You smell like _shit_.” Kylo growls to his twin under his breath.

 

“Not now. I’m just starting to have my _fun_.” Ben spits at him. Actually spits into his face as he speaks. Getting in his space. Riling him. Trying to provoke a reaction. He got one from Miss-Librarian-goody-two-shoes, and now he wants one from the twin who scarred him.

 

Kylo wrangles the glass from him. It wasn’t exactly hard. He scans around as he dumps the whiskey, slamming it down on a side table. Ben was snowballing coke, whiskey and god-only-knows what else. His usual _mix_ presumably. Kylo’s eyeing him with hatred.

 

Of all places for Ben to stagger into wasted. This isn’t it. Kylo’s feeling such rage he can _barely_ keep it in check anymore. He’d hurt Evie. Brought a backstabbing bitch into his path. And now he’s making a _fucking_ scene.

 

Not whilst there’s breath in his lungs, he won’t.

 

Kylo yanks Ben to him by the elbow. Marching him away. “I’ve had just about enough of your fucking _tricks_ tonight.” He tells him.

 

“Come on Baby.” He mumbles gently to Evie. Bidding her gently to follow in his wake. They stride past the bimbo.

 

He barks at the ex whose lingering near her wasted date.

  

“Get a cab home. Or go die in the gutter. Where you belong. Either way I don’t _care_.” Kylo glares. She sulks back at him. Stabbing her eyes into Evie as she follows the pair out. The viper watches her leave all the way to the doors.

 

Bens slurring all the way through the ballroom. Kylo marches him out quicker. Evie can barely keep up.

 

“Get the hell _off_ me.” Ben mumbles. Trying to shrug. But it’s no use. Kylo’s bigger. Stronger. _Angrier_. Plus he’s not as wasted.

 

“I’m doing you a favour. _Not_ the place. _Not_ the time.” He snips. Bringing them to the reception lobby.

 

Ben’s hosepipe mouth starts it’s usual spout of filth. “What? She got you pussy whipped now? Lovely little miss perfect fucking librarian turned you into a fucking soft cunt?” He slurs at Kylo. “Has she got you at her beck and call, wrapped around her lil fucking finger, Lady Ren?” He teases. Cursing and stumbling over his own two feet as they come to the valet stand.

 

“Shut the _fuck up._ Ben. We’ve got our reputations on the line here tonight. Or have you fucking forgotten that along with your _manners?”_

 

Kylo hauls him to a waiting cab. Wrenches the door open so hard, Evie thinks he’s at risk of tearing it off its hinges. He shoves Ben inside and slams the door after him. Then leans into the open window. Throwing a wad of notes at the driver.

 

“Get him away from here. Or to wherever the hell he wants to _fucking_ _go_.” Kylo snarls at the driver. They nod in sheer panic. Too scared to even look enthused by the big chunk of money he just threw their way.

 

“You useless piece of-sh...” Ben starts. Panting on the back seat. His veins straining. Heart pounding. Muscles tensed ready for a brawl.

 

Kylo’s not having _any_ of it. Not tonight.

 

“You want to come and fight me you pathetic wasted  _fuck?_ You know where I live. But I promise I’ll finish what you start and wipe the floor with you by the time I’m done. _No_ matter whether you’re sober or high.” He tells.

 

“This isn’t the place or the time to pull a stunt like that. And you know Grandma would be so devastated and ashamed of you, and the way you _acted_ here tonight. _She_ raised you better than this.” Kylo digs.

 

An arrow bullseye right into Ben’s pulse point. Words that finally still his un-sober temper. Shuts him up. _At last._

 

“Go home and sleep off your shit.” Kylo demands before he pulls back from the car and slaps the door. Telling the cabbie to drive.

 

And they _did_. Taking away Kylo’s kid brother slash problem. Permanent dagger in the side.

 

He turns back to Evie. Who’s stood shivering shrouded in the golden light of the lobby. Looking small and terrified. And it was Ben that had scared her. Kylo’s more her safety now than he’s ever been.

 

He strides up the steps and tucks her in his arms. She settles in his chest. He rubs at her cold arms.

 

“Come on _Kitten_. Let’s call it a night. I’m taking you _home_.” He says. Kissing at her temple.

 

She doesn’t disagree with him.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimme gimme gimme your verdicts


	34. Pillow Talk & Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H o l y f u c k 92 bookmarks! 9 2 ! That’s honestly damn bloody amazing to me rn. To celebrate have some kind of loving steamy porn. 
> 
> (I enjoy you guys so so so very much as readers. Y’all know that right?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bentley doors softly slam shut with muted ease. Enclosing them in their enclave of luxury. They sunk into the butter soft creamy-beige leather seats. Mozart was twinkling through the speakers. The air is cool and Evie takes deep lungfuls of it. Like it was manna. Ignoring the burning sting prickling at her eyes.

 

She let out the biggest breath as they were whisked away from the crowds. Away from the champagne that had turned bitter-sour in her stomach. Away from their toxic company for the evening. Her head spun and she feels about as held together as a rag doll whose splitting at the stitched seams.

 

She closes her eyes and gulps for air like she’s starving. Each breath pushing away the foulness that’s befallen her. Spat on her like a raining shower of poison tipped arrows. From the vile model. And her tall, dark and very foul date.

 

She curls a hand around her middle. Her clammy other hand is clamped around her Fendi clutch purse. Wedges against her thigh. As per usual, Kylo’s gargantuan form is taking up way past half of their shared bench seat in the Bentley. The solid hefty trunk of his thigh pressing into hers.

 

She _knows_ his eyes are on her. She can feel their weighty glance pressing in on her skin. His body shifts and he leans forwards in his seat. She hears a glass clinking. A soft pop. A fizzing pour of frothy champagne. And when he shifts back, he curls her small hand around a cold glass of spitting, tangy Dom Pérignon.

 

She opens her eyes and peers across at him. In the chiaroscuro of the dark Bentley, his obsidian eyes stark shine black and silver at her. His arm closest to her hooks around her hip and tugs her close to him. Those soft lips kiss at her temple as he speaks.

 

“Drink. Kitten. Every drop.” He orders kindly. Stroking at her beaded hip. His hand covering the whole side of her pelvis.

 

She’s had to deal with a lot tonight. He knows how his family can be, how vile Ben’s silver tongue can get when it turns rotten. Defiled with drink and drugs. And when his Twin’s sense of entitlement tended towards bitter. His fury was horrifying. That’s what Evie’d glimpsed at tonight. Not only Ben’s rage - but his wasted ego when at its most bruised self.

 

She tips the flute to her lips and swallows back a whole half glass of the shimmering golden stuff. She shudders at its sting tearing at her throat when she takes it away from her faded red lips. A sticky pink smudge on the clean rim.

 

She was really shook up.

 

“Why so down Kitten? Tell me it isn’t all because of what my idiot brother did?” He warns roughly. But with way he was stroking her body, it softened his brash words.

 

She smiles demurely. Wryly even. Her thumb stroking the cool glass.

 

“ _Not_ just Ben. Your ex too. She was....equally as vicious when she introduced herself to me in the restroom.” She adds.

 

Kylo’s cold eyes turn frosty black. Slicing into her. Yet he seemed calm.

 

“She’s nothing to me but a cheap bitchy waste of skin. It should tell you how much she meant, and still means to me, when I say honestly that I couldn’t even remember her goddamn fucking _name_.” He says calmly.

 

“She’s nothing.” He says firmly. Coolly. She believes the cold final authority of his tone. It wasn’t a heated outburst of his. It’s completely level-headed. Sociopathic. That vile viper had gotten under her skin. She’s sunk her fangs in and flushed venom into Evie’s blood. But she’s astonished and relieved to hear that her flaunting model-beauty couldn’t even snag his interest. Or grab his attention. His words were her antidote to her poison.

 

_She’s nothing._ He thinks. _Because she’s not you. No one has been like you._

 

Sliding his fingers through hers. Where her other hand is curled on her middle still. He slopes their knotted hands into her lap. Watching the beads shimmer in the moonlight.

 

“I probably shouldn’t ask what she said to you.” He says stiffly.

 

“As silly as this might sound. I don’t want to think over what she or Ben said to me anymore. This was, _such,_ a lovely date evening, Kylo. And in a way, it was my to honour someone I miss dearly. So I’m not going to let them take that from me, or her, for a few unkind snarled words.” She says with definite coherence.

 

Kylo could see by the stony resolved look in her baby blues. She meant it.

 

He reels her close and kisses her. Firmly. She tastes like champagne. He tastes like red wine. She stroked a hand over his tux shoulder. He looked impossibly virile tonight in his spotless crisp Armani tux. He towered tall. Handsome. And as formidable as ever.

 

Then again- she’s had a _lot_ of champagne this evening. Her head does feel fuzzy and she can feel that wavering sense in her body that tells her she’s leaning on this side of tipsy.

 

She’s a little drunk. Not too much. Just enough. And she’s very much in love. _Very_ much wanting to throw herself in his arms and let herself forget abut her horrid evening and the unkind words she was faced with.

 

Kylo watches as she chucks back the rest of her champagne. In one go. Launches the bubbly stuff right back down her throat. She stands the glass down. And gently reasserts herself closer to him. Sliding both hands over his lapels. Down and down. Touching that big wide chest she loves feeling his pure masculine strong, solid musculature under her hands. So male. So hard. All that’s shaped this body of his is fury and pain.

 

To her - It’s the sweetest thing of all to think that all that fury and hard-as-nails coldness softens to her touch. Moulds to the caress of her gentle loving hands.

 

“I don’t want to pay anymore attention to them.” She tells him. Really _tells_ him. She’s the most serious she’s ever looked. Yet she’s still that sweetly gentle girl he knows her to be - still his careful shy little kitten.

 

The sexual tension that’s been simmering all night on a low heat, suddenly creeps up to the boil between them right now. Evie flicks her eyes up to his. To say they pierced into her is an understatement. They were cutting into her like rough cut black diamonds.

 

“You know how stunning you look in that dress?” He rasps lowly. Pulling her close. Almost perching her on his lap. His hand cups her ass in his best paw and kneads her flesh. Caressing. Claiming what’s his.

 

She gasps a smile as she’s yanked up on his big lap. Her ass cradled between his thighs. Legs folded over one big black Armani clad thigh. Both hands on her now. One sliding up her back. The other grabbing her round thigh where it meets her hip. She’s strung her arms around his neck. Splitting her gaze between his lips and those deep dark eyes that swallow her whole like the ever-cloaking darkness of shadow they remind her of.

 

He’s eyeing up that pretty red smile too. Their mouths stealing each other’s hot breath. The pretext of oncoming sex hanging in the air like static. Lust is zipping up both their spines. Uncurling in their feverish blood.

 

“I’ve been meaning to say...” He lightly kisses her lips with a pleased hum. He scents Lipstick and champagne. He pulls back. Voice husky. Making her go all buttery soft. “While that dress _is_ gorgeous.... can’t hold a candle to the beauty that’s underneath.” He says. Naughty dirty mouth of his slipping up her neck. Kissing her jaw.

 

His fingers slip under the hem of her dress. Teasing at her back. Dragging along the back of the nude basque she was wearing. He’s been dying to see it ever since he saw her all dressed up. He wanted to haul her back to his bed and keep her there. Getting her down to her heels and jewellery.

 

He indulges her in a heavy, slow kiss. Warming up her lips. Stroking her body. Feeling how she moves against him. Clutches on. Strokes through his hair. Fingertips slipping down his stiff white collar. Made him itch to tear it off - to give her all of him. He wants to rip this expensive tux off, every scrap. He wants this. Loving and rough. He wants to tug those little hands of hers to his skin, onto his chest. Let her feel every inch of him with her palms. Rake her nails over his tattoos. He wants her to feel him pant in lust with her fingers all over his ribs. As he towers over her and lets her hands wander. He wants to drink in her touch and all that it does to him. How wild it makes him. How he can barely hold back.

 

He wants her to suffocate him with touch. With sensation. With _love_. Oh how he wants.

 

_Wants. Wants. Wants._ _N_ _eeds-_

 

He kisses her hungrily. Slips a hand up the back of her head. Devours her lips. Makes out with her. Tenderly but firmly.

 

Evie sighs onto those amazing lips of his. Sucking away her breath. Tongue curling. Tangling her up in his need. Making her own come out and play. She finds herself curling up in his lap exactly in a manner like that nickname he always gives her. She rugs him closer by the neck carefully. Her French pink nails raking his scalp. Combing through his raven silk tresses. Tugging only a little. He still growls that alpha grunt into their steamy kiss.

 

Very steamy - if the now slightly foggy windows are any indication of their passionate make out. They’re too intoxicated with desire to notice. Or care.

 

His hand just begins its devious inching up her leg when the car beneath them rolls, slows, churning up gravel. Indicating that they were home. Back safe at his. He tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth. Smiling as he pulls back. Dark eyes blown wide. Hair mussed. Breath melting hot at their mouths where they’re joined.

 

“Just you wait til I get you upstairs.” He husks gently. Voice a breathy horny rasp. She can feel his erection stirring under her thighs. Prodding at her. Expertly concealed - tamed behind his stiff dress code. Hemmed in tight to his tux trousers. Proper. Dignified. Every appearance seeming like the civilised gent he appears to be. She knows that’ll dissolve the minute he crosses the bedroom threshold. Then the animal untamed within him will undoubtedly come out to hunt.

 

“I’ll try.” She answers wickedly with a cute smile to his eyes. He sneaks his tongue to flick at her lips. Sneaking into her mouth again. Giving her a taster of his lust and wickedness. The car stops and their driver opens the door his side.

 

She bites her lip. Nervous at being caught romantically tangled up like this. Even when what they were getting up to was plainly obvious from the red lipstick smeared on both their mouths. His missed hair. Their flushed cheeks. Steamy windows.

 

She tries to exit the Bentley with a modicum of grace. Slipping off his lap. Her dainty heels hitting gravel. Shifting and crackling on it. The driver offers his gloved hand to her. She takes it and comes to a stand. Thanking him sweetly.

 

Kylo towers behind her not long after. Doing up his jacket. Hard-on rubbing infuriatingly tight at his trouser crotch. Luckily it wasn’t too obvious in this state. He takes out a money clip and tips the driver generously. And with a short nod of thanks, they get back in the car.

 

He looks upwards. Watching how her pretty dress shimmers gold, like champagne coloured scales, in the outside lights leading up to the front door. Watches the light move across her. Smiles when he sees she’s hooked her tall shoes into one hand. Bare feet now slapping the white marble steps.

 

She turns and catches him staring. Turns fully back. He watches how a few wisps of hair fold over her shoulders in the cool night air. Swaying at him. He strides quickly up the steps to her. Kissing her slow on the mouth.

 

_Sinfully pretty_. He thinks.

 

He heads for the door, punches in the key and lets them in. Cool lemon and neroli air greets them as they enter his cool calm foyer. Kylo shuts the door behind them. Bracing out the awful night that had assaulted her.

 

She’s barely turned to face him. When a big gentle paw covers one hip and slowly turns her around, reeling her in like earlier. Gentle. Tender. He walks them closer. The other hand cupping her neck. He kisses her again. All melting lips and sweetly searching tongue finding hers.

 

A soft grumble of “Gimme those lips again, Kitten.” Rumbling out his chest before their lips do meet.

 

His body language is clear; he can’t take anymore _watching_ her. Now he needs to touch. Taste. Sight. Sight after this dress crumpled in a pile on his bedroom floor.

 

Her back gets walked up to the solid wall behind them. It’s cold against her bare back. But it thrills. Her hands seek under his jacket at his hot shirt shoulders. His musk cologne and skin invaded her senses. His lips make her weak. Huge body making her weak and pliant. Making out with her like they were wayward teenagers.

 

So this is what need is? Then he wants it all. Wants to _feel all this. He wants to feel her._

He can’t bear the feel of this dress on her now. He wants it off. Same goes for her - she no longer wants this gorgeous handsome tux suffocating his skin. She wants rid of it.

 

She whimpers at him as they kiss grows hotter. Frenzied. Still tender. There’s love and lust here. Not just the former like there has been in the past.

 

Kylo finds three little words he never thought he’d hear himself say, tripping past his lips.

 

“I need you.” He speaks. As if only just starting to realise it.

 

“Bedroom?” Evie asks.

 

“Fuck yes.” He smirks back. So lowly. It makes her spine quiver in arousal. “Go ahead. I need a stiff drink. Then I’m all yours.” He states. Eyes raking over her skin like smouldering black coals.

 

She slips her hands off him and heads away. Already aching for his lips. He listens to her bare feet pad away across the tiles. He watches moonlight speckle her dress in the dark house. From the massive window. Watched silver light splashing across her pale skin. She was almost as pale as the crescent moon that’s hung in the netting sky of stars tonight.

 

He makes a beeline for his study. He absolutely slams back a glass of ridiculously vintage 52 year aged Macallan. He doesn’t stand still to even let it rip it’s fiery sting at his tongue. He’s away. Moving. Heading upstairs.

 

Evie’s just got to the bedroom. Her guru guardian angels had left a heap of boxes of different designer pots of lotions and potions for her, and boxes of perfume, heaped on his chaise. She smiles as she throws her Fendi onto the big glowing white bed. Shafted in moonlight. She slips out her earrings, and wrenches off her dress ring.

 

She lets her daggering heels clatter to the floor beside her. She’s slid the biting Swarovski white gold studded comb out her hair. Depositing it on the bed. And just as she twisting around to reach the clasp of her wreath necklace. The air shifts behind her. Shifting over her. Ormonde Jayne and spicy Whiskey. She closes her eyes. Indulges a smile. Hands enclose her waist.

 

“Leave that on.” He nuzzles into her neck. Hands skimming up her back. He goes for the zipper and drags it down. It folds open at her back. She’s biting her lip in anticipation. Toes curling and sinking in the soft rug below. Feeling the dress get peeled away. The fact those brute sized hands were so carefully taking down her tiny zipper tab without damaging it is a _miracle_.

 

Cool air hits her shoulders. He takes the two sides of the heavily beaded dress and pulls is slowly down her back. Over her hips. The sleeves slip off. It glides over her tummy. Below her hips. Catches on her thighs. But he encourages it to the floor. Leaving her stood in her nude provocateur basque.

 

“Turn for me.” He whispers. And she does.

 

And then she’s stood there. All for him. Looking perfect in that lingerie. But underneath it she’s even more priceless. Because she’s entirely _his_. He tilts his head to watch as he drags a hand over the curve from waist to hip. Admiring.

 

“Sinfully pretty.” He says in a husk. _Yet again_. She’s sure she blushes. All she knows is that her neck now feels blazing hot against the cool of the Cartier wreath. His eyes look like they should be blistering her skin with their smoulder.

 

He slinks closer and reaches a hand around her to get at the fastenings. A few flicks of his fingers and the hooks and eyes part under his touch like Moses and the Red Sea.

 

She truly pants. Wetting her lips when the basque too falls away. Littered to her feet. She shutters her lashes but looks up at him. He says nothing. But his eyes are slicing into her yet again.

 

Her gets her naked body close to his. Pulling her closer by catching one wrist. She gets up close and gets what he’s silently hinting after when he presses her hands to his big barrel of a chest. She gets to work. He watches her body as she undresses him. Her skin. Her perfume teasing him. It’s _all_ teasing him.

 

She slides off his bow tie. Undoing it. Throwing it away when she’s done. Then his jacket. She tries to go lay it down so it doesn’t crease but he bats it out her hands with a smirk. Taking her chin and kissing her hotly. Telling her how little it means to him. She could set that damn tux jacket on fire right now and he _couldn’t_ care less.

 

He guides her hands back to his fitted dress shirt. It’s damn near bulging to burst at his bicep and forearm muscles. She swore she could see his ink black tattoos swarming through his thin shirt from the moonlight they’re shrouded in. She fumbles a couple of times, but gets his shirt undone, pressing it down off his wide shoulders. Reaching up on tiptoes to steal a other steamy desperate kiss.

 

He lets her get her hands lingering on his solid broad trapezius muscles. But after a long moment of indulgent kissing. He calmly plucks her hands off and places them on his waistline. Helping her open his belt as they kiss. They groan into each other’s mouths when she brushes her hands over the heavy erection she’s caused to wag there, impatiently bursting for attention.

 

She pulls away to look as she carefully undoes his flies. Getting them down his trim hips. Followed by his D&G briefs. He nudged off his shoes and socks before she got his trousers to his knees. He kicks everything away. And there they are.

 

Imperfect him. Perfect her. Drowned in starlight. Naked and lost in devouring each other’s bodies. Greedy hands. Needy lips.

 

Kylo grips her close. As if afraid he’d fall off this Earth, or lose his sanity if he _doesn’t_ hold her.

 

He walks her back, lips joined, until they tumble to the bed below. Crashing into cotton sheets and cool pillows caught their fall.

 

It’s melting her heart so nicely that this big man is treating her so gently. The roughness isn’t here tonight. Instead, something like his love is. His devotion to her is centre stage. And she’s hooked on it.

 

They are one long warm caress of naked, salt-sweat skin. Perfume and cologne. Hardness and softness mashing together. Kissing feverishly. Letting their bodies speak the most. His tongue is down her throat and robbing her lungs dry, when his fingers sneak up her thigh and find her pussy slippery hot and aching for him.

 

She moans when two fingers breach her tight heat. And she’s always so hot. Too hot. And wet. Perfectly like soaked silk against his fingers. So pink and gorgeous.

 

He coaxed her open and she moans his name. One hand folding around his shoulders as their hips bump together. He’s on top. Grinding into her. She’s below. Taking everything he gives.

 

He’s knuckle deep in her now. Plunging and pushing. Tantalising spots he knows off by heart. Her hips ride the rhythm of his retreating and advancing fingers.

 

“ _Fuck_. I’ve missed this. Missed my perfect pussy.” He moans against ducking his head to suck a kiss on her shoulder. Her head is thrown back. Arching her body back for his hungry eyes.

 

Her loud moan is her answer. And it’s her own confession of; ‘ _I missed this, too_.’

_“_ _Kylo_ _...”_ She chokes on his name. He delights watching her writhe on his fingertips. Watches her pussy suck them up deep into her.

 

He likes how the Cartier wreath sits sparkling and refracting light off her collarbone. Little drips of diamond light and stars all over her skin. Just the star soaked night filling the window opposite the bed.

 

“I-I need you. _Please_.” She sobs. Clawing into him. He sucks her neck. Tastes faded Chanel on her skin.

 

“Can’t have my kitten going _begging_ now can I.” He smiles. His tongue and lips fondly finds her own. He strokes his flushed veiny cock a few times as he kisses her. Thumbing over his slippery head. Still leaking pearly drops of glossy precome into his hand. Hips jerking with pleasure. Before he refocuses- gyrates his hips to hers.

 

“All fours.” He murmurs wantonly against her lips. Pulling back and watching her move.

 

She rolls over and her knees stab into the soft bed. He sits back and fondles her peachy round ass as she turns. He liked how her back was all pale and smooth. Like a vat of silky ivory cream. Shadowed only slightly by the cut of her shoulder-blades darkening her back as she braces herself like he needs her too.

 

He _loved_ how she didn’t even want to be fingered tonight. Didn’t want to squirt. Didn’t want her pussy eaten til dawn. She just needs him close. Inside her. As close and as joined as they could _possibly_ be. _  
_

He comes close. Hot skin to hot skin. Her ass to meet his hips. And he sinks in. Real nice and slow. Feeling his cock split her wide open like it always does. Tunnelling into her tight pussy.

 

They both choke gasps and their respective names at each other. It had been a while since they last fucked after all- not since that night with Ben.

 

_What a pair of idiots they’ve been._ He thinks. Denying something that is _so_ good. This base carnal pleasure. And it’s not just lust. It’s a gut ache of such goodness for the both of them. So good it hurts. It’s unbelievable.

 

_And so right_ _._ _  
_

She throws her head up and moans his name loud. For him to treasure. And he does. He slowly drives and twists his cock in and out of her. Hips meeting her ass gently. Softly slapping together with languid thrusts. Rolling and fucking - at a slow steady pace. Each thrust knocks her lungs clean. She can feel him almost in her throat. He’s tearing her open in the best way.

 

He makes her arch her spine more almost coming up off her arms as he gently strokes her head, bringing her head back. Kissing at her temple. His nose nudging into her sweaty brow. Prodding her with a kiss. He leans more. His hand flat down to the mattress in front of her bent thigh. Hips still pressing little grinding circles - jamming his erection into her. Deeper.

 

She’s whining like he’s torturing her. Gasping. Crying. Sobbing his name. They sweat together. He drips onto her. It runs down his nose. Onto her face as he nudged into her. Breath cascading in a blaze over her forehead and temple. Her sweaty thigh rubs into his arm.

 

She can barely get one moan out and it’s swallowed up, following into the next one. He doesn’t quicken his pace. He’s still low and slow thrusting into her. Fucking her with passion. With tenderness. It’s making her tremble and cry. He feels tears splash down her face.

 

He shushes her when he sees her cry. Stroking her ruined hairdo with his calloused fingers.

 

“ _Mmm_ _._ _Shhh_. Shh. I got you baby. I know. I’m right here Kitten.” He husks.

 

Grinding just that little bit deeper. As if she was ever in _danger_ of letting herself forget him. Or that he was here. He was pulling her to messy pieces with his body. With this show of devotion to her. She wants to sob. And cum. It’s deliriously good- the way he’s torturing her.

_“Kyl_ _-_ _lo...”_ She starts. Gasping as his dick hits that indulgent spot. “I need you too.” She whines.

 

He kisses her temple. Smearing their sweat together. Lips kissing her skin at he speaks. _Mine_. He thinks. _Mine_. _All mine. All mine._

 

“Of course you do.” He answers simply. There was no doubting that. Not the way they’re going to cum tonight. He has a feeling they’ll both be obliterated by it. Usually he was good for hours. But tonight. It’s been too long. She’s too- everything. He needs this. He needs to give it to her.

 

And then he needs her recovering away to sleep in his arms. Tucked safe. Protected.

 

She’s throwing her head back again. Eyes closed. Hips stuttering. Clashing time with his. Riding into him with little presses. And when he sees the spasms in her thighs. He starts to lose it too.

 

He has to give in. And not _just_ to this. He realises.

 

He clutches her closer. Grabs at her skin. Sucks kisses onto her. Cups her hair. Whispers praises into her ear. Moves and fucks and thrusts, grinds, circles, and fucks some more, still slow, until they both simply spiral apart. Cumming within earth-shattering seconds of each other.

 

He pours hot and thick. Spurting deep into her. His skin slaps slowly into her hips as he finishes their languid intense fuck. Her toes are curling and her legs and body are so tense.

 

It’s a few long moments before either of them stop moving. And their sense swims back to them both, through the foggy haze of a truly _stunning_ shared orgasm. They grind and rub together long after they both stop cumming. Easing out the last few pangs, thrills, of pleasure.

 

Her head sets back on straight, and she unclenches her stiff fingers from hooking in the sheets when she feels him tuck her body into his. His softening cock only just finished emptying deep inside her crushing tight walls. Filling her hot and all up of him.

 

She wets her lips and turns around as he slinks close and crushes her into a glorious kiss. They drip sweat onto each other - and there’s a puddle of it below them on the bed where they’ve been at it for so long. Between their thighs it’s gathered.

 

Then she’s moving. Head swirling. It takes her a slow second to realise Kylo’s tugging her back. Making her fall, splayed out, onto his chest. Her back to his front. He slips out of her and lets the creamy rush of them flow. Her pussy is pinning down his thigh. But he likes feeling the wet release of them soak his skin as it seeps out of her.

 

With hazy eyes and foggy heads they watch the wall full of stars opposite. Kylo’s nudging at her temple. Cupping her ribs in his big clammy hands.

 

A shooting star streaks across the sky. But by the time it’s gone. Bursting off into the unfathomable navy blue of dark space. Their eyes are shut. Breathing deepens. And they’re curled together in a sweaty naked heap.

 

Sexed out. Worn out. And possibly, maybe even, just that _little_ bit in love.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how the porn went down plez


	35. Rest & Longevity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Send me the cheque for any cavities caused by this here chap. 💕

 

 

 

 

 

They woke up from deep restful sleep - to storm clouds. Literally.

 

Gone is the deep blue night that was strung with stars. Now the window wall of his bedroom is full of heavy chowder grey. Rain clouds roil stormy and tumble across the sky. Soaked full of rain. That’s all the long vista of horizon is for today. Miserable grey rain.

 

Showers of it shatter in sheets down the window. Chilling the glass. Evie wake’s up when she hears the first fuss of thunder growling off across the nearby trees. Her eyes peek open and blurry. She takes in the rainy storm as it breaks. The eye of it seemed to be above them in this glass fort that wrapped them up warm and safe from the elements.

 

She’s on her front. Naked. Creased thick white covers pooling at her bare shoulders. She curls open her body. Stretching to life. Stretching out her limbs with a sleepy breathy growl. Sounds more like a _mewl_ to Kylo’s mind.

 

He’s been up since the thunder first broke. He went and got a coffee. Let his Kitten sleep in. His mug of brew is now steaming away beside him on his bedside. The steam curling and lapping at the air. Bittering the bedroom with the smell of strong coffee. He’s tugged his lounge pants on. And now he’s sat up shirtless in bed. Reading glasses on as he does the crossword. A prison habit he sunk into and doesn’t want to kick _just_ yet. It’s his sluggish morning routine.

 

And it doesn’t hurt that it keeps him in bed. Next to her for a little longer...

 

She feels lazy and contented right down to her bones. Last night in bed clearly took it out of her. She shuffled around on her pillow and hugs the one near her arms. Curling up naked near Kylo’s thighs. Sleepy warm under the covers. Dozing off all the champagne she sank last night.

 

She mumbles. He watches her back arch as she curls into the pillow. Thrusting her ass in the air, arcing her shoulders then sinking into the pillow down near his thigh. A moment later her blue eyes peep over and blink across at him.

 

“Sleepy much Kitten?” He teases. “It’s almost 11. You’ve been out of it for hours.” He smirks.

 

He’s sat up in there in bed, reclining on the headboard, looking like a preppy tattooed _god_. She looked like a mussed, sleepy model. Hair a tumbled mess. Half up and half down with pins. Still draped in her Cartier wreath from last night. It glints dully in the half-stormy light from outside. Not even a cloud filled sky can blunt the shine of all those 18 karat diamonds.

 

She listens to him scribble on his folded up newspaper. His insanely clever mind solving the puzzle quicker than she ever could - and she’s the writer with the masters degree in English. He puts her to shame.

 

Evie grumbles and shuts her eyes. Arms buried under the pillow under her head. He eyes how the covers slip down over her ribs. Pale creamy skin almost at one with the hue of the rumpled sheets. Like freshly fallen snow that’s been stomped in by messy big boots.

 

Kylo’s hand is suddenly on her. Coming gently across and stroking where her neck joins nobbled to her spine.

 

“Something wrong?” He seeks. She hears a clatter as he lays his mechanical silver pencil down.

 

“Too much champagne.” She mumbles muffled into her pillow.

 

She wasn’t hungover. Just tired. Physically and mentally. And after glimpsing the dismal weather, and knowing that Autumn is definitely closing in, putting a bite in the air, she wants no more than to curl up in this big bed and get swallowed up in the sheets that smelled like home and his cologne.

 

“Can we stay here today?” She asks him. Lazy, loose, sleepy. Contented.

 

When he speaks. She can gauge the sound of that smirk of his tugging up his lips. Starting to curl. “We can do anything you want.” He declares.

 

His hand is stroking over her soft hair. Curls of it all fuzzy and frizzy where it’s matted as she slept on it. She snuggles her face into the pillow and dozes happily. He watches how her eyelashes spill soft onto her cheeks.

 

It gets silent in the bedroom. Just the soft scritch of his pencil on newspaper. The trickle of rain hitting window. A distant crash of thunder booms the sky. It’s peaceful. Languid even.

 

“Rainy days were movie days in my house as a kid.” She rasps up after a long minute. By now. She’s fed up of being so far away. She slopes her head on his thigh and he steeples his clawed fingers to rub at her scalp. Carefully picking out hairpins for her. They had to be pinching by now.

 

Her cheek is squished onto his big thigh. Hands curled up near his knee. Basking in his heat. His touch.

 

“Oh?” He asks. Seeking more. He can’t pretend this puzzle holds his interest now she’s awake. He discards it. Throws it to his bedside. Slouches down a little. Watching her be dozy and reminisce. Fingertips digging into her head. Making her sleepy.

 

“Mmm.” She confirms. “Me and my mum used to make a big nest on the lounge floor. Pillows. Sofa cushions. Blankets. A big heap.” She describes.

 

“We couldn’t exactly afford movie tickets. So we made our own. We borrowed Flo’s husband’s old projector and watched loads of old 60’s flicks. Funny Face. My Fair Lady. Mary Poppins.” She sighs happily.

 

“We watched Mary Poppins until the film burnt out. I was seeing dancing penguins in my dreams for months.” She huffs.

 

“I would’ve liked a few more Disney’s thrown in there. Only being a kid. But instead I got to watch Aubrey Hepburn do a terrible version of an east-end London accent for two hours.” She smiles.

 

“We used to peel oranges. And eat them watching the movie. Gran used to sit in the corner and knit. Laugh at our silly dances we used to flail around to when music came on.” She chuckles.

 

He murmurs a soft sound of amusement at the back of his throat. “Sounds like you and your mom had a lot of fun together.” He tells. Feeling unease that she had such a happy childhood. His temper treads a fine line between glad that she’s not suffered the misery he has; and completely eaten up with envy that she’s just.... _normal_. Had a normal life.

 

Refreshingly easy and insultingly normal.

 

She never got a leather belt lashed at her back until the skin broke from the buckle. All because Mom found the stubs of dad’s stolen cigarettes outside Ben’s room, in the window-sill planter. He recalls how that metal buckle had taken gouges out his skin. Took years to heal over smooth again.

 

She’s never had to have her jaw re-wired because she stepped in to defend her mom being beaten black and blue. For something so simple as her being ten minutes late coming home. She’s not had to experience what it’s like, as an eight year old, stuffing, stealing, extra rations of food from the school canteen down in trouser pockets because they hadn’t been fed a hot meal in a week.

 

That was _his_ childhood. Not movie nights. And orange segments. Silly dances. Or a rose-tinted happy glow of love and familial sentiment.

 

His reflections of childhood was broken bones, _too_ many broken bones to count. Wearing sports caps down low to cover bruised black eyes in Middle School. Hoping no teachers get nosy enough to ask. Broken glass, blood, tears and stale whiskey fumes, raining foul spittle from a shouting slurring mouth. That was his childhood in a nutshell.

 

He watches her as he strokes her hair. A little selfish part of him is sad with jealousy. But the bigger, almost wholesome half is nearly glad it’s him whose suffered. Thankful nothing awful has taken away or blunted her sweetness. Or turned her jaded and bitter over the years - like him.

 

Life had battered him. Shredded him. Kicked him and left him virtually for dead. She’s stayed buoyant and lucky.

 

He likes reflecting how he’ll make sure _nothing_ ever turns her pretty sugar attitude sour and dejected. _He won’t let it._ If it had to be how it was for them both. He’ll accept it. He can’t change the past.

 

“We did have fun.” Evie remarks. A touch sadly too. In nostalgic memory. One thing that was not so happy about the association was after her mom fell ill.

 

Gran had passed on just two meagre years before Annie got sick. She got a little better for a while. But then she got really sick. Her breast cancer became dogged - inoperable. Spreading everywhere like the parasitic awful thing it was.

 

She still remained beautiful - she was a beautiful person down to her soul. Even when she got paler and sicker. When she lost all her hair. She wore fantastic bright silk scarves. Weird quirky hats and wild funky earrings. She was still show-stopping even when she became bedbound. Too weak to move. Evie was there to do her makeup each morning, help her shower, and help her get presentable. Annie’s one fear - one thing that _did_ frighten her; was that she didn’t want her illness was to make her feel less than herself. To take away the unique facets of her character, that made her, _her_.

 

They watched a lot of movies together towards the end. Then one night. They sat down together for a late night showing of a classic old favourite. Evie peeled the oranges for them both. She gave Annie her strong pain meds. They snuggled up in her mum’s bed. The film started. The oranges went. The film finished. The last two remaining Winslow’s in that cosy little house went to sleep. And only _one_ of them woke up - Evie didn’t even get to say goodbye. And that was the cruelest thing of all.

 

Evie sighs thinking back on that day. Willing herself not to cry. She nuzzles into his leg. “I wish I could’ve said _so_ many things to her before I lost her. But in the end she just...slipped away.” She tells him.

 

He continues to stroke her scalp. Massaging her head. He can’t understand her warm familial sentiment. But he does hear the amount of sadness and lost love in her voice.

 

“I’m sorry you lost her that way. Must’ve been hard on you.” He empathises. Voice deep and soft. He was no stranger to being on his own. He’s learnt to rely on himself since he was six years old. And that was a bitter pill he’d had to swallow long ago.

 

Plus he knows her; he knows she’s sentimental, and loving. Warm. And from what he’s been able to glean about her mother; she was every bit as sweet and wholesome as the daughter she single handedly raised.

 

“It was tough. But... I was lucky I suppose. Whatever else happened. I had Flo to lean on.” She says brightly. Kylo likes how she always manages to find the silver lining. He smiles down at her.

 

And she had needed her friend more than ever; after loosing the two women she loved most on this earth. The two who’d raised her. Nurtured and loved her. And all she had to remember them by now, were her and Flo’s shared, hazy, colour-bleached memories. And an empty house full of antique possessions and warmth.

 

To Evie, it didn’t always feel so. It felt like a mournful mausoleum after Annie’s funeral. The walls and all the loving family touches, antiques and homely decor choked her.

 

It all chased and closed in to suffocate her. Drowning her in grief and making her feel so terribly alone. She became a staple at Flo’s dinner table for a good six months after that. Thanksgiving especially. That was the hardest for her to bear. A time for family - reminding her she had none left to surround herself with.

 

“Flo’s been real good to you.” He states.

 

“She does have her upsides now and again.” Evie teases. Eyes slipping closed.

 

“She’s very fond of you, you know.” She takes the opportunity to look up and tell him.

 

He’s silent. Black eyes assessing. As she expected. He let’s his thumb stroke across her cheekbone.

 

“I’m glad I left a good impression.” He realises. Makes a nice change for once. Compared to the impressions he left in Silver Pine.

 

“I think Flo is the kind that if she did hate me I’m sure she’d let me _hear_ all about it.” He accepts. His own Grandma was the same about voicing her displeasure. She’d also been a plucky spitfire spirited lady.

 

“You can rely on her honesty. Set your watch by it.” She beams. He hums a soft sound in cordial agreement.

 

Kylo looks up to the window as another shatter of thunder bounded, sprinting across the sky. He loved listening to the sheerly raw and immense power that a storm had when in broke. One of the few things he was in awe of. Thunder never scared him as a kid. There were far more realistic and painful horrors under his roof. Storms never came close to being a thing that phased him.

 

He watches rain knife at the window like silver daggers. Scratching and beading to try and get in. The room is cooling now. Muggy nights heat leaving them. He can feel the chill claw at his thick scarred skin.

 

“Kylo?” Evie pipes up.

 

“Yeah, Kitten?” He answers. Refocusing on her again. His black eyes had briefly been drawn to the soggy heavy grey horizon.

 

“Do you have any chocolate?” She seeks.

 

As questions go it’s an out there one. So random it crinkles his dark brow. He’s not sure what answer to give.

 

They eventually heap themselves out of bed. He just pulls on black socks and a Balenciaga dove grey cashmere v-neck. He pushes the sleeves up and runs a hand through his wavy ink mane.

 

She eventually picks her hair clean of bendy little hairpins from last night. And she is sorrowful to lay the Cartier wreath back in its box. But a clustering wreath of several fat 18k diamonds are hardly suitable rainy-day slouch wear.

 

She wrangles her trussed hair in a messy bun. Tugs on some faded old leggings. And an oversized oatmeal jumper that hangs off one shoulder. Teasing him with the lacy white strap of her wireless bralette underneath. With some odd pink knitted fuzzy socks on her feet, she pads off to the kitchen with a secret smile.

 

He frowns grumpily. Grabs his paper. And follows her. When he rounds the bottom of the stairs. She’s already at the stove. Stirring something in one of his Mauviel saucepans with a wooden spoon. The gentle sound of a wooden spatula hitting the base of a pan with a stirring clunk, took him ricocheting back to his grandma’s rosebud-decor kitchen, circa 1989.

 

She smiles sweetly across at him. “Rainy day film fest?” She seeks sweetly.

 

He smirks lightly. “Sure, Kitten.”

 

“You haven’t got urgent work on your desk have you?” She frets briefly.

 

“Nothing important enough to take away from my time with _you_.” He flatters. Eyeing the saucepan with curious suspicion as he moves past to go to the open-plan lounge opposite. She puts the lid over to keep his piercing eyes out. He narrows those black pits of irises at her playfully.

 

“Patience-“ She states.

 

“Is _not_ a virtue I possess.” He warns jokingly. Darkly even.

 

“I will not be swayed. Mr. Ren.” She tells. Turning to root throughly through his neatly organised ingredients cupboard. Standing on tip toes to peer in. He listens. She hums in pleasure when she finds something she’s been after.

 

He accepts his dismissal with good grace. Instead he heads for the TV. Clicks on the fireplace which puffs, roaring into life. A warm hearth blazing Amber in the dark sleek room with the rain like a sheet of smooth glass itself, outside the window.

 

He flips through channels. Quickly dismissive. Until he comes to one showing Fall movies. Whatever the hell that means. A golden oldies re-run. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The 1941 Wolfman. Frankenstein. Halloween. It was just rolling the opening credits for John Carpenters horror classic.

 

It seemed to suit the tone of their rainy cosy lazy day. Fall, after all, was starting to ebb in on the air. The seasons were poised to flip. If today was anything, it was certainly an indication that cold is on it’s way.

 

“Horror flicks sound good to you?” He calls through. She answers him not long after. He hears a shuffling of socks skid on his tiled floors. And then in she comes bearing a big tray. Holding it in both hands. Two mugs steaming with something. Aswell as a heap of treats. Red vines. M&M’s, and Cheez-it’s.

 

She sets it down on his low coffee table and sinks into the arm he curled open for her. Tugging her to snuggle into his side. She wiggles back to get comfy. The plush sofa swallowing her up. Collapsing her into his big muscles hard body beside her. His physique was like marble in contrast to the downy cushions.

 

She leans forwards and brings back to hot mugs. Pressing one into his hands. He lifts it up and examines its contents. A big swirl of sweet warm chocolate mists up his nose. He sees a frothy warm cocoa, with five oozing marshmallows melting to foam atop the hot drink. Pure sugar and comfort. In the best way possible.

 

Evie likes how he smirks. He sips the drink and moans appreciatively at the taste. Licking his lips after from the sticky marshmallow. Just the way Grandma used to make it. Hot milk. Real dark chocolate that was almost bitter.

 

Evie’s has a gentle essence of vanilla curling through it. And a sprinkle of brown sugar on the top to cut the bitterness of the coco.

 

That memory is alive again. A lovely full warmth the creamy milk left in his belly at night when he was tucked into the flowery bedsheets of the twin room at Grans house. With sheets that smelt like lavender powdered soap and talc. The sheets at hers were always starchy and nearly-too-stiff. Over ironed. But they were clean and cosy. And he slept so contented in that ruffled, frilly, rose-patterned bed. Knowing he wouldn’t wake up to shouts and sobs breaking through the pink walls of Grans house. No smashing glass. No rows which ended up in blood or snapped bones.

 

Evie’s cheeks heat as she leans into him and gulps a sip of the piping hot cocoa out her mug. The pure sugar and chocolate buzzing hot at her tongue. She drags the light weave cashmere blanket over their legs and snuggles.

 

He likes her fuzzy jumper warmth. How she clings on. Shares in his always furnacing warmth. He was unprevailingly warm blooded.

 

He’s already half drained his mug of hot chocolate. There’s that secret sweet tooth of his. It lurks hidden. But it’s there. She stands her half finished drink down and really gets cosy. He does the same. They stretch right back until they’re both horizontal. He was on his side resting against the back of the sofa. She was curled on her side, back to chest, in his arms. Propped up on pillows. They are hugged together under the blanket.

 

His breath heats up the back of her neck. Fogging it. Then cooling it. His hand soon smoothed a soothing gentle pattern on her hipbone. Again. His touches lull her into a cosy-happy state. She melts back into that firm body. Sighs happily.

 

His affectionate touches were far and few in-between. She cherished them like the small little personal miracles they are, when they came. Huddling gratefully into the caresses.

 

She tips her neck back. Cuddling into the crook of his arm. He nuzzles forwards and kisses the back of her neck. Letting his lips stroke against her skin and the collar of her jumper. Perfume and honeysuckle washing powder. He takes deep lungfuls of it as they watch the film unfold. Drowsy with contentment and chocolate. She nibbles on a red vine or two. He’s tempted to taste those sugar-strawberry lips.

 

He smirks when he sneaks his big hand up her jumper. She shudders.

 

“You’re hands are freezing.” She chuckles.

 

He speaks. His lips kissing the back of her neck as they moved. “That’s why I’m warming them up.” He rumbles obviously.

 

Teasing under the lacy hem of her bralette. Fingertips brushing the underside of her soft tits, that he wants to press into his big mitts. Skin so soft she can’t know it makes him crazy to want to touch her beautiful skin all over. So delectable.

 

“Would you like me to get my hands off you?” He smiles deviously. Lips on the crook of her neck. Making her insides churn with yummy warmth.

 

She’s practically squirming in delight. Reaches her hand up to muss at his wavy raven hair. “Absolutely _not_.” She grins.

 

“Good answer. Kitten.” Is kissed in a growl against her jaw.

 

He wanders the wide span of his warm hand cover her ribs. She tingles from head to toe with a lovely flushed fluttery feeling of his hand on her bare skin. Right where she’s ticklish. His finger skims over each rib-bone he could feel. Circling patterns down her body. He uses his hand as leverage to tuck her whole sideways form, curling her into his body. His breathing falling into sync with hers where his chest rose and fell.

 

They lazily pet and fondle as the movie plays on. Him mostly. She’s happy to lie there and let his touch devour her in the way it always does. He’s savouring. Touch starved. His prison sentence left him reeling from human contact. And though he was brusque when they first became involved, it’s softened him up now.

 

She won’t shrink away from those big violent tatted hands. Won’t flinch when he reaches for her. She never had. Never denies him either. She honest-to-god _welcomes_ it. She leans to his caresses. Savours them. One of the most beautiful sights, to his mind, is when she parts her thighs for him. That blew his mind. Got him raging and drowning in lust for her. More so than any other partner before her had.

 

_Much much more._

Something about her innocence made it all the sweeter. Contrasted so well against his darkness. It felt like he was the rough cut ex-con corrupting the good girl. It was sinful how hot he found that. _And her._

 

So he was touch starved. And Evie’s definitely feeling that come from him now she’s around. She curls her fuzzy socked feet into him and lets his touch soothe her. Indulges him. She could never turn such heaven as him, away.

 

Her mind meanders off concentrating on the film. It ricochets back instead, to yesterday. That nightmarish Gala experience. She can’t help it. She took things to heart - it was just her nature. And both Ben, and his hellish date, snarled things at her that had festered in her head. Infecting. Like open wounds rubbed with salt. It’s sting lasted far longer than it should’ve. The potent effects of their words far outlived the millisecond of existence they briefly enjoyed.

 

She hates thinking how such hateful people with hateful words got to her. Her heart also sunk low because she had - for a time, actually thought well of Ben.

 

Fools errand.

 

Nevertheless - she had. She’d gone on a date with him for pity’s sake. She’d kissed him on her doorstep like he was any other date. Like any other old day. What she didn’t come to realise was that Kylo’s twin was a bag of tricks she’d been fooled into trusting. He wasn’t the kindly, flirting and jovial man she’d dated. He was just as riddled with just as much darkness and dubiousness as his brother. More so. Cause Kylo’s mask was convincing. Ben’s was _devastating_ in its effectiveness.

 

He’s hidden a lot of hellish rot behind that porcelain exterior of boyish charm and playboy facade. And she feels like she’s just smashed her way through and come face-to-face with his true bare self.

 

She got it now. She’s clueless no more.

 

She’d once been naïve enough to wonder how Ben had escaped the sheer horror of his abusive childhood seemingly unscathed. Such charm. Such manners. She often thought it was because, as Kylo had snarled that night, that he took the brunt of his younger brother mistakes. As his parents thought he was the one more responsible to set an example, being the eldest twin. But now?

 

Now it’s apparent that Ben didn’t escape lightly after all. He was burdened with almost exactly the same pain, and trouble that lived in Kylo. It’s a tragic thing really. It saddens her. And last night, it had terrified her.

 

“Kitten. You _know_ I can hear it when you overthink...” Kylo drawls behind her.

 

His big hand slips from under her jumper, brushing to hold against her navel. Cupping her close. Keeping her there. Just as he can hear her think. She can always feel when his dark eyes land on her. She swore she could feel the weight of their shadow-black gaze. Like spots of blazing sun warming on her bare skin.

 

“It’s nothing...” She offers gently.

 

“Out with it...” He urges softly onto her neck. His nose prods into her pulse point. She covers his hand with her own where it’s laying gently against her stomach.

 

She sighs. Low and slow. Emptying her lungs. “I’m just...” she’s struggling for the words.

 

“Last night. The way Ben acted, what he said. The way his date reacted to me. Just. It’s hard to sweep away to be honest. I always seem to just... freeze up. I can’t hit back. I’ve _never_ been able to... hit back at people who say awful things toward me...” She tells him. Picking at her jumper sleeves as she speaks.

 

She’s speaking from a past lifetime of hurt. Through high school she’d been picked on. An easy target for those mean enough. Her accent, glasses, bookish appearance and shy intelligence garnered unwanted attention from bullies. She’d looked forward to her adulthood thinking she wouldn’t have to face those problems again. Clearly she was wrong.

 

The cruelty in Ben’s eyes. The shimmer of pride and arrogance in Kylo’s ex when humiliating her. She believes that breed of wickedness, that pleasure taken from other peoples pain. She doesn’t believe that raw ugliness of character and mean spirit can ever really, _truly_ , leave a person.

 

It’s awfully silent behind her. She feels his big cavernous chest just breathing as he takes in her speech. He cups her hip. “C’mere.” He says finally. Urging her to turn.

 

She shuffled over onto her back. Wedged slanting into that body. The sofa plenty big and wide enough for them to lie face to face comfortably - even for a man of his proportions. She bends her knees. Ribs her socked feet together. One hand flat under her cheekbone.

 

“Don’t dare let Ben get to you. Or his pathetic excuse for a date. He only brought her cause he thought it would hit back at me.” He explains plainly. “As it is. I had the prettiest girl there. On my arm.” He tells her. Thumbing her rosy cheek.

 

“That’s what he hated. Kitten. Not the fact you chose me. Or the fact we were there together. Just the fact that he _lost_.” He says.

 

Evie’s brow crinkles a little. “I don’t understand?” She let’s out. Searching that big handsome face that was all soft shapes and broad lines. Supple pouting lips. Long impressive cheekbones. Long hair nearly tangling in his eyes. Melting amber hickory-black eyes boring into her. Like charcoal mixed with melting honey. His breath fanning her lips. He lets one fingertip wander over the fuzzy downy short hairs at her forehead hairline.

 

“Ben was always the one picked over me. Favoured even.” He tells. “He was outgoing. Brash. Loud. I was quieter. More introverted. I’d been taught to keep my fucking mouth shut for good reason.” He intones gently.

 

“Don’t talk. Can’t get hurt.” He simplifies for her.

 

He could point to many of the scars on his back and name how his answering back had earned them. They all had different nasty origins too. Cigarette burns. Broken glass whiskey or beer bottles shoved into the soft of his back. The metal buckle of a belt strap. The steel toe of his dad’s heavy work books. The macabre collection of his dad’s favourite things that had left their bite on his skin.

 

“Last night, Ben was drunk. And high. And the sense of entitlement he lives with was lashing out. His disorder made it worse. Like gasoline thrown on a fire.” Kylo says. “It’s the most vicious version of him to take.” He spoke from experience. Stroking her hair. He wasn’t offering an excuse for Ben’s behaviour. He was just telling her the method behind the cruelty.

 

And somehow, talking about it was binding them closer. Here they are, snuggled up. Under a blanket as the rain pours. Drinking cocoa and watching autumnal movies. Evie never envisioned _this_ happening with Kylo.

 

He’s got a lot still hidden from her. And astoundingly, she’s alright with it. She can’t push an immovable force. She lets him be. Happy with each new inch of territory he uncovers for her. She’s letting him get there in his own time. She’s in no rush for this. For him. It’s all taking its natural time. Their pace is comfy. She has very few - if no - complaints about this relationship. Before, it had always been different.

 

With Kylo? It’s easy. And she doesn’t ever want to be freed of this privilege.

 

“I suppose no one escapes the hell the both of you grew from, unscathed.” She says gently. Reaching over to stroke across his hair behind his ear. Aqua Di Parma shampoo scent shuffled in her direction. He quietly watches her face.

 

It’s never been this easy to talk before. His exes had no need for talking. They talked at him. He seldom listened. With Evie of course it’s different - like everything else about her is.

 

Naturally. There’s some things he’ll never talk about. That’s how he is. Who he is. That won’t change. He won’t change.

 

“That was a long time ago, baby.” He shuts down. “In the past.” He dismisses.

 

‘ _And_ _t_ _he demons we got from that_ _last_ _hell will never leave us.’_ He wants to add. But doesn’t.

 

“I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you.” She ushers weakly.

 

“There’s always been rifts between me and Ben. Kitten. We’ve never been able to stand each other.”

 

“I hurt him.” Evie confesses quietly in realisation. Coming to an epiphany. Stark black and white. That’s how it was to manoeuvre around these two.

 

“Yes. You did hurt him. He tried to hurt you back. Eye for an eye.” Kylo tempers. That’s how Ben operates. That’s how Kylo lives, too.

 

Anyone hurts him - they get that pain served back tenfold. He’ll make sure of it.

 

“He succeeded.” Evie says lowly. Curling up into him. Burying into his cashmere chest. Warm wool and his citrus cinnamon cologne in her nose.

 

Kylo strokes her back. Lays his lips gently into the nest of her hair. His big arms enclosed around her. And with the kiss he pressed to her forehead. She finally feels that tiny bit safer.

 

“He can be nasty. And so can I.” He offers.

 

“You’re not nasty to me.” Evie mumbles into his chest.

 

“I wouldn’t blame you for thinking it Kitten. That’s what I am.” He says.

 

“This is also the same man who bought me dresses. Pyjamas. Clothes. A Painting. And took me to an expensive Gala because he knew how much it meant to me.” She pipes up.

 

He hums in partial agreement.

 

“There’s two sides to every coin. Is there not?” Evie says unconditionally. She’d be pretty senseless to not know about Kylo’s darker nature. Considering how they met...

 

“Is this you saying you’re with me no matter what?” Kylo’s asking her with a note of humour. She feels his words rumble through his chest like the storm and thunder roiling outside.

 

He believes her. But can’t help wondering what next hint of darkness will have her running away in fright. It’ll come. He’s sure. One day. One day something will be too much. And she’ll leave him. He’ll be on his own again.

 

_Right?_

 

Despite herself. Evie smiles. She tilts up her head and catches her baby blue eyes in his shadowy irises. “I’m afraid it might be.” Is her answer. Hugging him tighter.

 

He lets her. And he kisses her head again. The smell of her hair, skin and perfume in his senses. Her little body cradled to his.

 

He hums in thought. “ _Well_ then...” He sighs. But she hears that smirk tug up. He holds her tighter. And she doesn’t need anymore answer than that.

 

“I also gave you more marshmallows.” She says. “If that doesn’t shout favouritism I don’t know what will...” She smiles. Burrowing into the blanket. Watching Michael Myers stalk Lorie Strode.

 

Kylo’s chuckle catches him off guard. “I clearly stand corrected, Kitten.” He smirks.

 

~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream it out at my inbox. You know you want to.


	36. Surrogates & Pledges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In ascending order we have; Horny Kylo (that’s usual) Sweet Evie (that’s also usual) 
> 
> And I’m here to say that Flo is 10/10 the most evil drinking buddy ever.
> 
> And holy heck if I reach a thousand kudos I may actually cry - with happiness and sheer disbelief. Y’all awesome 💕💕💕 And I want to kiss every last one of youse

 

 

 

 

 

Kylo likes waking up at Evie’s place. It calms him in ways he know he can never _fucking_ explain. It just does. Something about her, and being in her warm little house makes him unwind and relax.

 

He sleeps better too - but he can maybe put that down to the sex they have before bed.

 

Last night was damn near _tantric_. Sensual

 

A hot heavy sticky night in bed that he’s not surprised knocked them right the hell to sleep after they collapsed back on her still creaky antique-looking bed that he’d bought to replace her old one. This was the way he’d proposed they break in the new mattress.

 

Crumpling their exhausted blissed out limbs onto the sweaty-cum slick rosebud sheets that were now tacky, reeking with sweat and body. Not her honeysuckle washing powder. Now it scents purely of hot musky skin. His & Hers from their raw animalistic night, writhing naked together.

 

All because she’d stuttered out weakly a soft little gasp of “ _Can_ we?... um...” her finger tracing over his pec Michelangelo tattoo as she nervously edged around the subject. He’d curled two of his fingers deep in her slick cunt and kept firm eye contact. Panting against her lips. Flicking against the secret spots he knows live inside her. He could kiss her. And he does. Mumbling a “ _tell me._..” in a hoarse gruff against her mouth.

She whines. But opens up her gaping mouth. Wetting her lips as he shoves those devilish fingers deeper. Teasing her into talking. She drops her head back. Thudding to the pillow.

 

He’s made her cum like this once already. Her back feels nothing but old feather down and mattress springs as he fucks her _deep_ into it. Legs wrapped as wide as they can to curl about his massive hips. Headboard clattering. Springs slamming from the force of his body in his feral state. Driving her insane.

 

The only sounds in the air are hot-breathy sticky gasps. Clinging moans rasped into skin. Her nails rake for his sweaty shoulders and barely manages to clutch on. He’s giddy hearing the way her pussy is squelching wet around him. Slick skin rubbing all hot and feverish together.

 

Now he’s back to doing what he loves and does best - slipping his fingers inside her to tease. She blurts it out. Nails stinging his shoulders that set him growling at her filthy wish.

 

“I want to... to _ride_ you.. please.” She’s said. He smirks a growl into their kiss.

 

_Fuck she’s gonna kill him with that sweet shyness one of these days._

 

“Was that please necessary? You know I love it when you to beg to bounce on my big dick...” He grunts in pride. Locking them together, he laid back and pulled her onto his chest. His fingers slid out of her. Hot and wet. Slicked with her taste. Leaving her feeling insultingly empty.

 

He spreads himself back on her pillows. Hair fanning out like a dark nimbus around his head. Eyes silver and black slicing up into her as she braces herself on her knees over those wide strong hips she can’t wait to ride. His big paws grapple their clawing grip into her soft thighs.

 

From here he can scrutinise her whole body. All those sweaty curves he adores. Those pert peachy-rose nipples. The ways her thighs gleam silver with her own wet. He reaches up and brushes both thumbs across her nipples. Seating her fully in his lap; that had made her grind onto his leaking flushed cock.

 

“Get me inside you right the _fuck_ now, Kitten.” He grins darkly.

 

Now, that’s an order she can happily follow. She’s literally topping him and he’s still barking out demands that reminds her he’s under her- but still in charge. She doesn’t think she’ll ever see a submissive side of him. It’s simply _not_ in his nature.

 

Her knees dig into the bed. He feels her little hand grip the base of his girthy cock. He moans when she’d slicks her tight fist up his length. Grunts when she rises up to get it flush to her gorgeous cunt.

 

“That’s it. _Fuck me baby_. _Thaaatt’s_ it.” He mumbles slowly as she starts sinking down onto him. Stopping now and again to catch her breath. This took a lot of work. Taking him was no meagre chore. Now her cheeks and chest were flushing pink. It’s crept slyly down her neck. His hands are stroking her calves.

 

He loves that their sex is making her grow bolder in requesting this.

 

The veins in his neck strained up tight to the tattooed skin. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are fixed on her like a predator as she presses one hand to his pec. Rubbing him as she finally works up to getting her hips fully seated on him. It’s quite an achievement. Stuffing that whole big erection inside her. She felt like he’s bursting her open.

 

“Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He leers at her. Eyes darker than sin.

 

“That sweet cunt swallowing me up. Fucking hell, Evie. _Look_ at you.” He smiles. Watching where they’re intimately joined. Her pink tightness stretched wide with him.

 

She leans forwards and grinds her hips. They both gasp at that glorious sensation.

 

And that’s how they cum. Except he’s then sitting up as he nibbles at her neck. Rubbing her nipples as she grinds and fucks herself on him. Grinding sweaty hot together. To the point of exhaustion. He pumps a hot load into her quivering pussy. And she soaks his lap when she climaxes. His fingers pinching her clit to help get her there.

 

He slides his hands around her. Nesting pressing kisses into her thick hair that trailed over his face. It’s all heartbeats and gasps and too-much-but-just-enough-hot skin when they finally sink down from heaven, back to bed. He wrapped his arms around her little body and hugs her. Hissing a groan when his thick cock _schlicks_ out her with a wet slop.

 

He curls them together. Gets her laying down. Facing him. Covers barely lapping their ankles.

 

After a few minutes of raspy panting. And soft kisses hushed onto whatever patch of skin is nearest. For her, it’s his straining neck. For him, it’s her forearm that’s stretched across his beefy chest. Shes half sprawled on him.

 

“Broken in enough... do you think?” She pants. He chuckles. Stroking big fingers along her arm. Kissing her fingertips that are near his mouths reach.

 

“Of course _not_. A couple more fucks. Then I’ll be satisfied.” He leers at her.

 

“Tonight?” Evie asks somewhat incredulously. Gulping. Her legs felt like jelly already. Sleep like drowsy tonne weights on her eyelids. The temptation to slip away was too great. He’s made it that way.

 

He playfully nips at one of her fingertips. “You’re safe from anymore mauling’s tonight.” He tells. Kissing the finger his teeth just bit. Sucking the next fingertip into a kiss. Tucking her porcelain doll hand under his chin.

 

“Famous last words.” She mumbles at him. Sinking into the hug. Burrowing into the crook of his neck like she wants to move in there. Live in his skin. Make a home among the darkness and tattoos. He grumbles. His eyes already shutting.

 

They share a gross sticky disgusting hug. Not caring one bit. They actually savour it. Her cheek sticks to his ribs. One wandering hand gliding and rubbing around his nipple ring making him all but purr.

 

They listen to the trees sway outside her window. Leaves already starting to shed a little. Starting their balding and shedding ready in time for Fall. Soon, the gorgeous green lush summer woods will be nothing but a vast spread of maple-rust and orange. Leaves crackling, drying, dying.

 

Golden brown spreading everywhere. Soon the stores in town will be crammed with gourds, pumpkins and squashes. Halloween candy going up on sale already. Every corner in town she knows will be netted with fake lacy spiders webs. Pumpkins sitting fat and squat on every business threshold. Air turning foul with nipping-bite of ice. One that will soon require a pair of mittens. And a hugging wool coat to brave it’s frost.

 

They sink into a crushing black sleep that night. And they don’t wake til dawn shines through. Cold and crisp. Starting to stiffen the woods before the morning sunshine butters it up all warm honey-yellow. Thawing from the night before.

 

Evie stretches awake first. Groaning sleepily, covers slipping off her chilly arms. She frowns. Moodily sitting up. Rubbing sleep out her eyes as she yanks on a nightshirt she hooked over the end of the bed frame last night. Naturally, Kylo knocked it to the floor with his vigorous hips pounding her and slamming her in bed.

 

It’s cotton. White. Fairly sheer without intending to be. She drapes it on. Yawning as she slips away to brush her teeth. Her nipples still perk up pebbled cold under the sort-of-see-through fabric. It wasn’t meant to be tacky lingerie. Just a cotton shirt that light and air and skin can peep through happily.

 

They were bid to Flo’s tonight. For Dinner with her and Arthur. Flo had been doggedly insisting for _weeks_. Keen for it ever since she met him at the town movie night. Evie’s made two Pecan pies. And Arthur said Flo was being forced into her best behaviour around her ‘handsome beau.’

 

Evie doesn’t believe that for even one second. This was the same woman she suspects faked a swooning moment to grab onto Kylo’s arm muscles that night she first met him. The cane was probably fake too - she moved way too quick with it.

 

She rubs her arms as she springs back into bed. Grateful for being able to slide back under the warm covers. Pressed up to her furnace of a broad man. Who lifts his arm and yanks her back to his chest where he’s still semi-asleep.

 

“You know I now hold you entirely responsible for making it _more_ impossible than ever for me to get out of bed.” She chides him nicely. Snuggling into the nice new mattress and Sferra rose and peony patterned sheets.

 

Cuddling into him, arm over his chest. He sighs. Grumbling. But Evie knows that the smirk is coming soon.

 

“Thus fulfilling my plan.” He says.

 

_Dear lord,_ that bassy-low voice growling first thing in the morning when his vocal chords start to warm up puts a delicious shiver to crawl up her spine.

 

She smiles. Looking up at his sleeping face. Warm giddiness and definite hints of love warming low in her belly. Simmering there. That so full, so handsome face tilted back to rest on his pillow. Morning sun splashing up his neck via the window his side of the bed. Shining on those ink tattoos. The glyph he had scrawled up the side of his throat that she’d learned was an ancient philosophy text of some kind. She loved tracing its straight-cut sharp poem stanza lines with her fingers.

 

“Coffee?” She asks. Nuzzling his bony muscle shoulder. She asked him that every morning and the answer was always yes.

 

He grunts an affirmative noise. His chest felt strange when her arm slipped off him. A parting kiss pecked on his shoulder. He hears the stairs creak and he knows she’s descending them just with the purpose of going to get him a coffee. She’s too sweet for him. Far too wholesome. Treats him way too well.

 

Good thing he’s a selfish bastard who wants to keep her _all_ to himself. He smiles proudly at that.

 

His eyes peel reluctantly open. Her sunny little flowery room looked so cosy in the morning light. He snatches the covers off, and presses himself up off the dreamy soft queen mattress. Vastness of his tattooed chest going on for what seemed like miles. He used to hate how he sometimes felt too big to function anywhere. It’s rather grown into having its uses in prison. Being such an intimidating size kept him safe there. Out in the world its flipped; out here his size continues to be a threat.

 

_But not to her it isn’t -_ dammit all to hell. He actually shakes his head in disbelief in odes to that mushy sentiment.

 

His palms press to the bed after he rubs his eyes. He’d managed to find an almost replica of her previous old rattly as fuck, bed.

 

It was a cream wrought iron frame. He had it sourced from an antique dealer in Paris. He wasn’t going to tell her how much it took to get it here quickly. She’d never go near it if she knew how expensive it was. It was almost the same. Down to the creaky joints and the shabby chic worn paint job. He paid extra for her to have it that way.

 

He uncurls his naked trunks of legs. Stretching out to stand. Snatching on a pair of his black Ralph Lauren boxers as he trudged to her en-suite. Tangling a hand to ruffle through his thick black knotted mane. His hand skims his face and bristle meets his rough palm. He hums, goes on autopilot to brush his teeth, and suddenly a thought comes to his mind as he eyes his shaving set out the corner of his eye.

 

He scrubs his teeth with peppermint foam. And he smirks darkly.

 

When Evie returned a few minutes later. Trying not to slop piping hot coffee on her toes, as she’s coming up the stairs. She finds the bed empty. Signifying her big hulking grizzly bear is awake.

 

She puts his coffee on his bedside and tucks the papers next to it. She’s subscribed to the New Yorker and the Wall Street Journal for his benefit. Too dry for her. But he liked the puzzles at the back. Apparently he grew quite proficient at them as a kid - it became his quiet little routine. He went through whole scores of puzzle books. Sudoku. Crosswords. Logic puzzles or mathematical ones. They kept his sharp brain well-defined.

 

That’s one thing Evie absolutely loves about him - people only see his size and instantly seize the conclusion he’s all tattooed violent brawn and _no_ brain. Style over substance. But as a matter of fact; it’s the opposite.

 

Sociopathy doesn’t always correlate with high IQ intelligence. But _he_ does.

 

He’s incredibly intelligent. Phenomenally so. Nearly too much. And he wasn’t to be underestimated. Awarded a full college scholarship to MIT at just _16_. Graduated valedictorian with a first class honours degree at 19. That’s bloody impressive. She suspects his IQ range is somewhere near 140 maybe. When people assumed him to be dumb, one flick of those violent sharp eyes would make them scurry back, and reconsider.

 

His memory retention was second to none. He was hyper observant and knew and saw far more than he let on. He didn’t speak up about it though - she knew his childhood mannerisms was responsible for that. He was calculative. He could charm if he needed. He was adaptable to anyone’s taste. Deceptive and likeable. Yet his intelligence he kept to himself. Only let on about it through his work and the way he carried himself. The way he moved through life was also indicative of it.

 

She peers around and sees the bathroom door pulled shut. Warm air ebbing and steaming out toward her. She turns to go re-make their sweaty sex bed. She’s just gone to unbutton the duvet sheet cover. When his dulcet voice echoes out, carrying through from the bathroom.

 

“Get in here, Kitten.” Comes his sly cooing call.

 

That call gets her hair on her neck pricking up. Her spine alight with a flashing flush of curling desire. She abandons the bedding and cautiously walks over and presses open the bathroom door. Peering inside.

 

He’s stood in dark boxers, and nothing else, at her sink. The porcelain basin is full of steaming hot water. He’s leant over, one arm braced. Lathering a flat round cake of something up with a brush held in his other hand.

 

She can smell the gorgeous musk of it already. A cake of Truefitt & Hill sandalwood shaving soap studded with dried lavender. An Êshave chrome black, double edged razor sat waiting patiently between the taps. She almost expected him to have a cutthroat razor and a strop of leather ready to hand.

 

The windowless room is dark, save for the amber-gold lamps casting light beside the sink. The yellow walls made the room glow like honey in a jar on a sunny windowsill. His eyes flicker up to find her. A smirk curls at his lips.

 

“I need those cute hands of yours to do me a favour.” He tells her. Nudging his head at her to encourage her to come in.

 

She’s suddenly rather aware she’s naked under a see-through cotton nightshirt. He knows. _Oh, how he knows._ He can see how hard her nipples have become. Doubtless prickling up her skin too.

 

She pulls the door closed after her. Approaching cautiously. The way a baby doe wandered near something unfamiliar to them in the dark forest.

 

He stands straight and tall near the sink. Before twisting and turning to sit on the lip of the bath. Opposite the mirror and the sink. He holds the oval cake of soap in one hand. And passes her over the brush dripping with creamy, fragranced ivory-foam...

 

Her mouth gapes. “You want me to-?” She points to his chin.

 

His brow quirks almost imperceptibly. “Unless you’re telling me suddenly that I need to shave my back. Then _Yes_. I do mean my face.” He explains.

 

She steps closer and takes the small wooden lathering brush. Swallowing. She steps right up to his spread knees. Toes cushioned on the soft towelling bath mat.

 

He spreads his knees wider and tugs her closer by the hips. His hands falling slack to his knees thereafter. She raises the brush and he’s staring at her deeply. In that dark secret way his eyes manage to get away with. She gently starts to layer his face and cheeks with the wet, warm, spicy-citrus soap.

 

She’s working diligently when she suddenly stutters to a stop. She’s nervous.

 

“What if... what if I cut you?” She frets. Brow all Creased. Wrinkled and frowning. Worrying that hurting him might bring out his volcanic temper.

 

He almost scoffs. Soapy cheeks dimple with a smile. “Have you _seen_ me, Kitten?” He was a walking fucking scar for crying out loud.

 

He’s got a scar on his face so thick where it was carved open, that they could see his _cheekbone_ when they stitched him up. A little nick from a razor wouldn’t even register as an injury. Not to him.

 

He makes no move to point out his face and body that’s riddled, lashed, and dripping with scars. He rather lets it’s insinuation hang around in his tone.

 

Her eyes go all sad soft and kind. “I’ve no wish to be adding to that vast collection.” She mumbles weakly.

 

“I trust in these pretty hands to make me look good.” He says. Taking one and kissing it.

 

He was playful today. His nose nudged her, upper lip smearing a big dollop of shaving cream onto the back of her hand.

 

In other words; _I trust you,_ was what he was saying. That bolsters.

 

_I’m showing you I can be weak and under your control. Kitten. You can hurt me just as much as I could hurt you - if I wanted to._

 

She refocuses on her entrusted task. Eventually finishing lathering the soap on his chin and spreading up his jaw, and down his throat slash neck. She sets the brush down. Finished with. On the edge of the sink. Washing it out in the water so it didn’t stiffen.

 

When she turns back, he passes her the handle of the cool chrome double razor blade. She gulps cautiously. Weighing it in her palm. None of those cheap plastic disposable nonsense here. Of course there isn’t. _It’s Kylo._ This razor in her palm and it’s changeable blades alone, most likely cost more than her car.

 

“And I half expected a cutthroat razor...” she says lightheartedly. Stepping closer to lay the razor on the plane of his cheek.

 

He smirks. Black eyes slicing and glittering.

 

“This one can achieve the same job if you know how to use it right, Baby.” He tells her.

 

She blinks across at him. Because of course he’s _serious_.

 

His eyes look like twin glimpses of black outer space. Calculating. Drawn back. She notices how his chest puffs sharp with a breath when she sets the razor onto his skin.

 

She might’ve imagined it. But he looked... he almost looked like he was... _aroused_. And she’s seen that particular _look_ of his more times than she can account for.

 

“If you’re going to kill someone. It should be more of a personal thing. _Intimate_ , even.” He rasps.

 

“A razor can get the job done well enough. Inflict all the damage you want. But it’s nature is too quick. No time to savour it. A slash of the wrist and it’s over.” He speaks. Doubtlessly from experience.

 

She knew about his prison fights. She knew that he’d had to defend himself against objects like razors and shivs in Prison. She doesn’t want to devote her thoughts to what awful crude weapons he had to dodge in yard fights. Stuff of nightmares.

 

“That’s why I prefer a knife.” He adds.

 

“That way I can look into someone’s eyes as I push it in. I never knew I could savour all the little things that flash across their face in that one last moment.” He says calmly.

 

Evie adjusts her hold. Wets her nervous lips. He was so eerily calm explaining about that. She’d be worried about her own safety - if she currently didn’t have a very horny sociopath at the end of the sharp weapon of a razor in her hands.

 

Something so simple - so small. And yet it’s keeping him tamed. If only she knew to what extent...

 

It never occurred to her there was a correlation between his lusting words and the razor now resting on his skin.

 

_Until_ she hears how his breathing shifts when she adjusts her position. His lips part slightly. Eyes like dark flames. Those big thighs tense.

 

“Keep still...” She stutters weakly. She curls the knuckle of her free hand under his soapy chin. Concentrating as she draws the sharp glimmering silver thing down his skin. Hearing it scratch and carve its path over his bristles. Taking them away to smooth skin.

 

“Making me look good for Flo I hope? I’d like to make another good impression.” He quirks. She starts little strokes around his upper lip. He’s no shame in staring at her _so_ intently. Before she’s off washing the razor and turning back.

 

She smiles. Concentrating on her steady slow hand as it takes away soap. “I don’t think you need to concern yourself with that. Flo is a randy old bird. She’ll be happy to feel up your muscles whether or not you’re clean shaven.” Evie tells. Working up now near his right cheekbone.

 

“In fact, I don’t think your lack or abundance of facial hair will even factor in, to her mind.” Evie adds. “She’s very _taken_ with you.”

 

She withdraws and washes the soapy scum away. Comes back and sets the razor nearer his cheek. “Not that I can blame her.” She smiles quietly. Blushing only a little.

 

He would’ve smiled wider. Only that would endanger his skin.

 

“Why else would I work out this much if it weren’t for people to fawn all over me?” He jokes with her.

 

She laughs a little.

 

“Looking the way you do, Kylo. I doubt you have trouble making anyone weak in the knees.” She tells him as she gently scrapes the razor over his upper lip.

 

She’s looking at his cheek. He’s concentrating, studying her face in the way that makes her feel all giddy. His hands reach out and gently his knuckles brush up her knee in a feather light touch.

 

“As long as I can make my little writer tremble in the knees. That’s _all_ I care about. That, and keeping her sweet pussy happy.” He rumbles flirtily. In a way that makes her breathing change pattern. It makes her clench too. But she tries not to let on about that. She washes out the razor. And pads back.

 

She tips his chin up. Now it was time for his throat. She’s done his cheeks and across his upper lip.

 

She swallows. This was the trickiest bit. Gently passing the razor down the curve of his neck.

 

His hands are clenching into the cast iron bathtub beside his knees. This is enough to make him semi-hard. All the while she works gently. She can’t ignore the way those black eyes are blistering at her. His head may have been tilted back. But his smouldering at her is plain as day.

 

She sighs in relief when the first stripe is done. She rinses. Then moves onto the next bit. Listening to how his breathing is still sharp. He licks his lips and smirks at her when she finishes the second swipe down his neck. By the third, her hands are starting to tremble.

 

He looks like a shimmering black panther just before it tenses it’s haunches, and pounces.

 

“Your smile is making me nervous...” Evie peeps out when she comes back for the fourth and final sweep of the razor. Right down his jaw.

 

He smirks wider. Says nothing. But the look in his eyes says _plenty_.

 

She passes the razor down his neck, down over the curve of his handsome jaw for the last part. She puts her thumb on his chin as she finishes the last little bit. When she brings the razor away. There’s a perfectly clean shaven Kylo sat before her. She wipes away stray smears of foam with one of her fluffy ivory towels.

 

She turns and washes the chrome razor out. Unplugging the sink. She grabs his luxury Hêrmes shaving balm and steps back over across to him. Back between those big spread knees.

 

He reaches out and tugs her in by the front of her nightshirt. It pulls tight at her back as he reels her in. He comes to a stand and presses their bodies real close together. Not even air could get between them and _oh-_

Evie’s shivering because it’s just man, and warm faded sweaty skin and hot and musk and he’s close- and it’s so, so really, _very_ nice. It’s melting her.

 

He sways their hips together and looks down into her eyes. Sinking both his hands into her hair like he’s starving, he lifts the thick tresses off one shoulder and she nearly drops the expensive bottle of lotion she’s holding when he nuzzles his newly shaven, soft chin into her neck. Like a big cat.

 

It tickles and thrills her. “Soft enough, Kitten?” He asks in a grumble. She can feel his smile too.

 

“You’ll do.” She nuzzles into his collarbone. Stifling a laugh that’s smothered onto his skin. His arms come around her and hold her as he kisses her temple. And swipes his fingers down over her hips.

 

She steps back and squeezes a little of the balm onto her hands. It’s cresting waft of spice and lemon. The one she likes thats scent clings onto his skin. She balances the bottle on the sink and rubs her hands together, smoothing them over his cheeks. He stands there and lets her lean up on tip toes to get to his scarred face.

 

She rubs it all in. Over every ridge and bump. Over every mole. Over his big nose and his sturdy handsome chin. Thumbing his cheekbone before she pulls away. Kylo looks in the mirror behind her. He looks good. Clean. Tidy. And her hands did that to him. That makes him feel... something. Something along with the impatient itch in his blood that made his breathing all jerky when she held a razor to his throat.

 

He’d given her power over him. And she hadn’t abused it. He hadn’t reached out and gotten hurt. She took it and turned it into what she does best; use it to love on him all the better.

 

“There’s a good chance Flo might take you off my hands entirely.” Evie warns. Both hands now cupping his cheeks.

 

Kylo yanks her close once again and stoops to press kisses along her jaw. Likes how her cotton crumpled at his skin. A teasing brush of honeysuckle and vanilla aroma on her clothes. It’s that gorgeous amalgamation of fresh bright pack of washing powder and lovely soft skin that can only _ever_ belong to her.

 

He shares in it, when she sometimes washes his shirts for work. There he was. In all his tall scarred glory. In a suit costing thousands, being brilliant and ruthless in his multi million dollar company. And he’s smiling all day long purely because he’s surrounded by a shifting cloud of vanilla and honeysuckle clinging to his shirt like sweet perfume that drags him right back to the little reminders of home. _Of her._

 

He smirks to her skin. Patting her round perky butt as she reached over to turn the shower on.” She can try, Kitten. But I kinda like what I have.”

 

 

~

 

 

Kylo and Evie climb out the Aston at the same time.

 

Kylo parks it under the big spread of the sturdy giant angel oaks out front of Flo’s place. They swing out the car. Pie dishes clunking in Evie’s hands as she grabs them out from the footwell.

 

She heaves them up in her arms and strides for the gate. Familiar with the way in through the bustling neat garden that isn’t dissimilar to her own, he thinks. He recognises something in its manicured touch that makes him affiliate it with Evie’s.

 

The air smells like hibiscus from the shrubbery lining the fence before them. It’s all warm sunshine on old wood and emerald dewy grass.

 

This house was a shining, gleaming, white wash example of southern coziness.

 

Home. It’s undoubtedly a _home_ and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet.

 

It’s groomed. Clean. And the promise of warmth and hospitality beckons people right through the white picket gate and up onto the porch, getting their toes across the threshold. Kylo has an extraordinary feeling this house will hug him as soon as he enters it.

 

It’s perfect. Idyllic. Right down to the almost too white picket fencing. The two perky happy golden retrievers waiting with wagging tails and lolling tongues at the gate. Even the antique rocking chairs on the porch look too good to true. It’s perfection standing in house form. Purple flowering Wysteria vines dripping like lilac lace off the roof overhang makes him know his estimation is right. Everything in this house is well loved.

 

He watches Evie walk to the gate and enthusiastically greet the dogs. Coping down at them like that they were furry babies. He smiles a little. Shutting his car door, a bottle of fine red cool in his hands. The blood label on the racing green bottle almost matched his v-neck jumper. He went for a scarlet cashmere. Pushed up over his arms. Tattoos peeping. Silver Omega on his wrist. Black jeans on his legs. Big thick skinned barbour suede boots on his feet. Evie assures him that Flo didn’t require suits for dinner.

 

-she also warned him that if he wore anything resembling one of his irresistible suits, Flo would most likely maul him to death. Be all over him like a rash before he’s even in the door.

 

She looks damn pretty tonight. As Falls ebbing in, he notices she shifts her familiar wardrobe. No more cute frilly little sundresses and flat sandals.

 

Tonight she chose a thicker long sleeved chiffon dress. Pairing it with knee length tan heel boots. Her dress is a bright sapphire-royal blue with big white polka dots all over. Her hairs down. Shining sleek. All curly and kinky waves. He knows he’ll get a face full of lavender shampoo and geranium perfume from those tresses if he gets near. He’d watched her spritz it all over when she’d been getting ready.

 

She twirls around and bumps open the gate with her hip, distracting the dogs and holding it open for him. He smiles at her making kissey faces at the animals. Patting them both with her free hands. They don’t discriminate against cuddles. Or Kylo either. They fuss at his black denim kneecaps for attention. He kneels down and gives it. Petting them fondly. Evie watches him. He tosses and rubs their velvet ears in both hands and pets them. Leaves out the cooing compliments that Evie gave them both.

 

The kind of familiarity with animals that she didn’t expect from him - one that led her to believe he’d owned one before. She’d have to ask him about that at some point. Whether he was the kid with a dog who was his best buddy. An inseparable pair who do all their boisterous adventures together - knowing the tragedy of his childhood as she does. She doesn’t think she’s all that keen to dig up any horrors that will break her heart for him all over again.

 

Kylo just rises to his feet, brushing stray dog hair off his jeans, when their kindly hostess makes her nimble way down the porch steps. Hollering across to them both.

 

“Heya sugar.” Flo calls to Evie. Before she directs a wink and a randy smile at Kylo.

 

“Hey stud.” She coo’s. “Holy hell. You’re _twice_ as big and strikin’ as I remember.” Flo says to herself. Fanning her red face with the oven mitts in her hands.

 

She’s in her usual camel-taupe capri pants, pink button down, and fuzzy slippers. A frilly yellow rosebud apron is knotted around her waist. The scent of cooking, buttery pastry that Kylo can almost taste already, follows her out the house. Her snowy hair is drifting like a snow drift with some wisps delicately in her wrinkled beautiful old face. She still has that Colgate red smile and dazzling wisdom soaked eyes.

 

Flo gets to them and a bony arm wraps around Evie’s to give her - trap her - into a deceptively strong hug. Rose talc tangles in her face and the strong essence of cooking lingers on Flo’s clothes. Flo looks grateful as Evie bids hello and shows her the pies.

 

“Arthur will be over the moon for ya. You know pecan is his favourite. You do spoil him somethin silly.” Flo simpers. Rubbing Evie’s arm nicely.

 

“Good.” Evie beams. Not sorry at all.

 

Kylo steps up to them both. Places a hand on the back of Kittens hip. Stroking her back gently. Big paws spanning her back easily.

 

“Nice to see you again, Flo.” Kylo smiles easily across at her.

 

Flo opens her arms. Oven-mitts flapping in her hands. “Get over here sugar. We’re huggers in this house. Don’t make me climb ya.” She warns him.

 

“She will.” Evie peeps in a whisper out the corner of her lips. Knowing the randy old ladies threat was very real.

 

He chuckles as he leans down for an embrace. Evie definitely sees how Flo lingers her hands on his arms longer than was probably necessary. Kylo hugs her gently. Like she was a baby bird he was scared of hurting. Her frail body felt brittle and fragile under his touch. Roses and talc sticks to his shirt like flour. Clinging onto him.

 

“Honey. Put the young man down.” Arthur called from across the garden where he’d been trimming back a box shrub.

 

“Careful son, she can be _real_ handsy.” He shouts across as he swayed over. He was a tall guy, knock kneed and his old legs bowed now. Still, he carried himself tall and fairly stocky, a swaying gentle giant, where Flo was as short and as fiesty as a Tom cat.

 

He was dressed in his white straw gardening hat, faded old red flannel rolled to the elbows, and muddy scuffed green-kneed jeans. Kylo breaks away from Flo with that masked smile. The one he reserved for people he wasn’t so familiar with. “I shoulda warned ya bout her. She gets her claws in ya then you’re in some _real_ trouble.” Arthur adds

 

“I tried to warn him.” Evie interjects. Kylo smiles at the old man. Arthur kisses her cheek and then goes to greet Kylo.

 

“Pleasure to see you, Arthur.” He nods across at the old man who steps forwards to shake his hand. Warmly patting it with his other one. Arthur pays the dark tattoos on Kylo’s forearms no mind. Others usually did. They raised eyebrows or shrunk down. There’s _none_ of that here. Flo and Arthur were among the kindest most wholesome people around. They accepted everyone who stepped foot in their house - no matter what.

 

Even if they didn’t understand the predicament of the troubled souls they took in - they’d support it with the same fierce enthusiasm. No one was ever burdened with solitude or left feeling unloved so long as the Bernstein’s had their influence and good name known in this small little town.

 

“You too. Son. You too-” Arthur returns with a sincere smile. “Scuse the attire folks. I will be washing up for dinner.” He tells. Shifting some heavy gloves out his pocket. Patting the shimmering silky head of a retriever that sidles over to him for attention. He rubs the dogs ear as he speaks.

 

“You take those damn boots before you tread any of that in my rugs.” Flo warns with a wag of a finger at her husband. Eyes narrowed to warning slits.

 

“Come on in kids...” She turns and heads for the house, the mitts wafting in her hands as she waves a hand, indicating to the house. She totters off, and they follow.

 

Arthur strides away across the lawn to put away his tools back in the shed. Telling them all he’d be in shortly to wash up. Evie smiles at him, Kylo let’s her step up the porch steps before him. The old sanded down wood, worn from years of tread beating down on it, creaked under their weight. Whilst this house did look absolutely spotless from afar, Kylo clocks a few things as they head in.

 

The porch lights needed a new glass shade over them. New bulbs too by the looks of things. One part of the porch banister is rotten and needs replacing. The wood splintered, shattered and buckled. Jutting out from the house like a stubby rotten tooth. The screen door is limply hanging off one hinge. He frowns a little at it. These neglected things didn’t seem right resting on this happy house.

 

Flo and Evie are already in the kitchen. He follows suit. The houses interior was exactly how he pictured it too. Stuffed with memories. Warmth. Love. Photos of family plastered everywhere. Laura Ashley flowered chairs by the warmth hearth. Lace curtains. Old warm floorboards trodden with patches from years past. Love permeated every nook, cranny, and corner of this house.

 

This wasn’t a house belonging to people who are terribly well off. Or wealthy. He could see that with one sweep of his eyes. But it’s sheer warmth makes up for all those things alone. In a way - this _was_ a rich house. It’s Stuffed. Crammed to the ceiling. Rife with happiness.

 

He comes to the kitchen island. Stopping a little to pass under the low wood doorframe. If he didn’t duck he would’ve rammed his head into it. Evie smiles. He looked like a big dark giant trying to manoeuvre gently around in a precious dollhouse.

 

He sets the red they brought down on the counter. Evie’s tying on an apron to help with prepping dinner. Rolling up her sleeves. Flo pours them all a - very full - glass of red wine each. Nearly to the top with dark ruby merlot.

 

She raises her glass to Kylo’s after the both take a sip. Evie is smiling at them as she dices greens for the salad.

 

“Here’s to you kids. You really brightened up a dull night at home, for a couple of creaky old biddies.” Flo winks at Kylo.

 

“Thankyou for having us.” Kylo says sincerely. One hand in his pocket as he softly clinks his glass with Flo’s. Evie smiles fully across at him.

 

“Well. I’m glad this one’s kept you around...” Flo nudges her glass in Evie’s direction.

 

“The feelings very mutual.” Kylo smiles back. Warm honey-charcoal eyes catching on hers. Despite herself, Evie blushes. Still slicing lettuce leaves. Looking cuter than ever - to Kylo’s mind.

 

Flo chuckles heartily. Then she leans in and stage whispers to him. “About time too. She needed a man somethin awful. She’d just never admit it to me.”

 

“Funny that...” Evie chides wryly at the woman as she scoops her sliced veg into the allotted bowl.

 

Flo raises a brow at Evie. Who looks sternly but playfully back at her surrogate Grandma. “Good thing you _did_ find someone for yourself. I was about to suggest setting up a very nice young gentleman for ya....” Flo winks. Sipping her wine like the canny old sly thing she was.

 

“ _Oh_ no. I’m not going down that road again. Not after last time.” Evie says. Very forthrightly. It’s the most determined Kylo’s ever heard her.

 

“Last time?” Kylo pipes up with mirth. His smile creasing his cheeks. Leaning suavely against the kitchen counter behind her.

 

“I’d wanted to shield you from this.” Evie says.

 

Kylo grins. Turning his eyes to Flo. Who sheepishly sips her wine.

 

“I once set her up on a blind date...” Flo gets out.

 

“...and the rest...” Evie laughs.

 

“So he had a glass eye? What’s the big deal? He was charming...” Flo defended. Kylo chuckled warmly behind her. The gorgeousness of it flowed into her ears like caramel.

 

“Got a thing for eyepatches huh babe?” Kylo teases her.

 

She shakes her head. Smiling as she dices more veggies.

 

“Well. Dates aside. You, young lady made a _very_ fine choice all on your own. I could put a set of muscles like them to _good_ use.”

 

“Get your mind out the gutter, Bernstein.” Evie says. Walking a bowl over to the sink.

 

“I’m actually _serious_ , this time, honey.” Flo chuckles. Evie turns back.

 

“Anything the matter?” Evie seeks. Instantly gauging this situation.

 

“Just a few bits and pieces round here that need fixin. We ain’t got the money any more to get a handy man in.” Flo tells honestly. “Kids. Weddings. Grandkids christenings. Bar mitzvah’s. It all adds up eventually...” She chuckles.

 

That chips thick splinters off Kylo’s shard of flint he had for a heart. These two incredibly giving people providing every penny where possible for their family. But not having enough in their pockets to finance fixing their own house. He can’t let that lie. _Won’t_ let that happen to a lady as sweet as Flo.

 

Kylo steps forwards opposite where Flo’s sat, and sets his glass down. Frowning a little. Evie pipes up.

 

“Flo I’ve got some savings. And all that you’ve done for me- I’d be happy to-“ She begins.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ , sweetie. I won’t have it.” Flo shuts down. Beady eyes twinkling. Absolutely resolute. More resolute than an iron fist, was Flo’s stubbornness.

 

Kylo is rolling up his sleeves already. “Show me what needs doing, Flo. You got tools?” He seeks lowly.

 

Flo blinks. Eyes calculating. She almost looked surprised.

 

“Just a few things to fix out front...” She points. Creaking down from the barstool, leading him across the kitchen.

 

“Only if you’re sure now, honey.” Flo pats his arm. Feeling his muscles again. Kylo smiles down at her. A true smile.

 

“Of course I am. Show me.” He says gently.

 

“Hinges on the screen door and porch railing right?” He asks as he bounds down the steps. Smoothing big fingers carefully over the splintered wood.

 

Evie watches them talk from where she stood in the kitchen. Watching Kylo crouch to examine the banister. Pushing the wood back in. Seeing how it could be fixed. Flo was stood above him, on the porch, pointing animatedly around at all the jobs that needed doing.

 

A clatter near the stairs made her look over, seeing that Arthur had just strode down. Silvery short hair wild from where a towel had been shuffled over it from his shower. A waft of tea tree and mint coming with him. He finished buttoning up his blue flannel. And had on a much cleaner pair of blue jeans now. He smiles at Evie as he buttons his shirt up. Comes across to the kitchen. And she reaches into the fridge and pulls him out a Budweiser. Snapping off the top.

 

“Bless you. Honey. I always knew you were my favourite. More than any of my damn kids.” Arthur teasingly smiles. He loved his kids more than anything on this earth. He loves Evie in the same fierce way. Worked his fingers to the bone for them. Tugging her into a one armed hug into his willowy frame.

 

“I made you a Pecan pie too.”

 

Arthur chuckles. “That settles it then.” He decides firmly. They both look out to the porch when Kylo says something to make Flo laugh. He stands up and brushes off his hands. And his smile is a thing of sheer beauty.

 

He’s comfortable. And she _loves_ that he can be that here.

 

“Thats a good strong man you got there.” Arthur says. Nudging Evie in the hip with his own. As they stood at the kitchen counter. Watching outside. He took a swig of his beer. Evie could still catch scents of garden shrubs on him.

 

“Yeah. It is.” Evie agreed softly. Smiling up at the man whose been like a second grandfather to her. She never knew her father. He hadn’t ever given a damn about her. She hadn’t given anymore thought to it than that. She had better people like Flo and Arthur to think about.

 

“How’d you meet him again? I don’t think Flo told me...” He seeks. Evie takes a sip of wine. A _big_ sip of wine. Clearing her throat after.

 

“Uhm. Uh _Well_....” She blushes, before she starts. Wetting her lips. Getting Arthur ready for this one hell of a tumultuous ride.

 

 

~

 

 

Dinner was fantastic. Kylo’s feels drawn into this funky little family. And he always managed to feel like the big, dark outsider. But sat at Flo’s round little dining table, laughing, drinking wine and having potatoes heaped and heaped upon mountains on his plate. He definitely feels like one of the clan.

 

Flo keeps nudging food and drink at him. Placating him with the excuse of “You’re a big boy. Come on, eat up. I wanna see a clear plate now.” Serving him up what must’ve been his fifth portion.

 

Arthur protested that he never got seconds. Flo just frowns at her husband and ‘psssh-ed’ him away with a wave of her hand. And the ultimate statement of “You’re not a guest, honey.”

 

Evie caught Kylo’s eye as she brings her speared bit of fried chicken to her mouth. They smile at each other in the fond way couples do. Almost able to tell what the other is thinking. Kylo sips his wine and gets to work on his second mountain of food. The way his chicory-granite eyes sink into hers makes her tummy just melt. Cheeks pink from the darkly handsome look.

 

It lets her know he’s having a nice time. She’s beyond pleased about that. She sips from her water glass hoping it’ll cool her cheeks. Kylo can see how it _doesn’t_.

 

This warm laughter; domesticity. Being fed like he was a growing boy again

 

Grandma used to do what Flo’s doing. He recalls fondly. Feed him til he couldn’t move. Load him and Ben up with fattening food. And always seconds. And extra dessert too. Cherry pie and cool whip. She chided Ben frequently for always putting the nozzle right in his mouth.

 

He feels like that now; Flo reminds him of his Grandma. She doesn’t judge. Or turn her nose up at him. She feeds him and wants to keep touching his muscles. She’s reminding him that he _can_ be loved by someone in a familial fond way. He never thought he could have this in his life again.

 

He’s delighted, for once, to be proven _wrong_.

 

They natter and laugh through dinner. More wine is poured. Then coffee, and pie with ice cream - of course. Evie takes the dirty dishes to the sink to start washing them up. Helping Flo out. The others are finishing their pie and ice cream. Arthur sidles off to feed the animals out back. Before dark fully sets in. And make sure they’re all locked up safe for the night.

 

Sunset is just starting to blaze through the angel oaks out front. Ochre triangle of amber setting the lawn ablaze. Autumn colours painting the leaves ochre, even though the season hasn’t fully turned yet. The slanted shade of the house sliced across the grass, contrasting with the pale fire of evening that set the surrounding fields and sky to blaze. Crickets begin to start their humming already. The dogs are flopped in their baskets on the warm porch that the suns warmth hasn’t left yet.

 

Flo pipes up to Evie. “Go give Arthur a hand would ya sugar? Last time he forgot to lock up Millie. That old gal got in my garden and ate all my _damn_ begonias.” She smiles. Patting her hand. Evie smiles.

 

“ _Oh_ , of course.” She answers with mirth to Flo. Finishing placing clean dishes on the draining board. Wiping her hands. Evie smiles at hearing Flo’s anecdote about their beige mischievous milk cow, Millie.

 

She tucks some hair back behind her own ear before she followed Arthur out the back door. They walk off smiling, Kylo’s hears Arthur make her laugh as he rolls up his sleeves, and obediently places a pile of dirty plates under the lemony suds in the sink. He just starts rubbing away smears of food off the crockery.

 

He hears Flo clattering around in one of the cupboards behind him as he starts to dry off some plates. Little footsteps totter up to him from behind. And there’s a little nudge to the back of his ribs and he turns to face her.

 

She’s holding a bottle of rare cask Glenfiddich. And two glasses. And she’s got her most devious smile on - he was coming to learn tonight that Flo has the most guileful set of smiles and looks.

 

“Screw the washing up honey. Come have a drink with an old dear on her porch. True southern style.” She winks. Her grin is lethal. His is wide and spreads his cheeks. Dimpling his face.

 

He flicks suds off his arms. Dries his hands on her striped tea cloth and accompanied her out to the porch.

 

“Cop a squat sweetie...” She tells him. Shoving the bottle and glasses in his hands and gesturing him outside. He walks out as instructed, patting a blood hound dogs head as it’s tail lazily thwumphed the decking as he strode past the canine.

 

Flo lingers inside the open front door. And he sees why when she puts Billie Holliday to play on her old turntable. Smoky voice crooning the night. Lady Day with her husky sad blues. Singing something about being a fool.

 

He slips into one of the creaky old rocking chairs. Briefly worried it wouldn’t be able to support his weight. Nonetheless it held. He rocks his pelvis back and gets comfy. Lays out the glasses and pours them both a healthy dram each. He’s just stoppered the bottle and set it on the little table between the two chairs, when Flo reappears around the doorway. A wool throw in her hands. She cradles her old bones down into the support of the chair. Flips the blanket across her knees, and keenly eyes with her sharp blues the amount Kylo has poured her.

 

“We ain’t in Utah, Stud. _Keep_ pourin.” She encourages. Kylo chuckles. Tipping the bottle up. Giving her a great glug more. Her message was well understood.

 

They sit forwards and Flo clinks her glass with his. They sit and listen to Billie as she croons. The crickets and the rustle of sunset leaves hissing and spitting as the dying wind fusses them. They sip their whiskey. And Kylo likes how Flo relishes the silence. Doesn’t peck at him like other people would’ve done if they’d brought him home to meet the (grand)parents - as it were.

 

Flo’s chair whines as she rocks on its antique runners. Kylo doesn’t shift his. He relaxes back in the wicker seat. Arms folded, holding his whiskey on his ribs. Big legs bent, feet firmly on the floor. He watches the big oak trees opposite. Loving how a small jagged heart with AB + FC are scratchily encircled in a heart one of the trunks. Arthur Bernstein + Flo whatever her maiden name was. He likes that. They’d grown up as newlyweds in this house - from what he pieced together from Evie. Bought the land for a fistful of dollars and did it up real nice.

 

Settled down. Started a big, loud, noisy family. Had a whole score of kids that ballooned into their extended family. They had pets aplenty and he just warms to how this house is always busy, active and loving. No matter _who_ is brought through the front door.

 

“This is a really good vintage.” Kylo comments after a sip. Just the right amount of fire and spice lapping at his tongue.

 

Flo chuckles dangerously. “Got this for our 45th wedding anniversary a few years back. Arthur don’t do much spirits. This is a very special bottle of mine. Only save it for _real_ special people.” She grins over at him. Chucking back a big mouthful of it herself.

 

Kylo levels a calm thankful look across at her for a moment. He feels like he’s choking up.

 

“Why are you being so kind to me, Flo?” He asks quietly.

 

Her mirth fades.

 

She blinks those big sharp eyes across at him. Crickets chirp. And it’s eerily silent. Kylo thinks he’s caused offence.

 

Her wise eyes shine silver and grey in the half light from the sunset. She stands her whiskey down gently, and then carefully reaches over to take his hand. As if she were approaching a rabid animal.

 

He looks down in his lap and he watches as her bony, wrinkled and nobbled hand reaches for his. Clutching atop his right wrist.

 

At first Kylo thought she was literally twisting his arm to get a better look at his tattoos. She softly turns his arm around. His jumper sleeves were still pushed high from where he’d been doing the washing up. They both watch as his faded silvery scars catch the light. When he looks up to Flo. She looks a mix of devastated and hurt.

 

She pats his knee. Then takes her hand off him. What she’d said was wordless. But it hung in the air between them shouting out a million things.

 

“As soon as I saw you with your sleeves rolled. I knew. Know what horrible marks they are. I know they’re _not_ self inflicted neither.” She ushers gently.

 

“Forgive me for touching ya. But I saw them the day of the movie shindig. Felt em’ all under my hands. You _poor_ love.” She says. Tilting her head at him. She wasn’t condescending. Matter of fact, she sounded fiery and upset by this.

 

He swallows. Sips more whiskey. He likes that she wasn’t dragging out of him _how_ he got them. That’s all other people seemed to care about. She wasn’t saying or doing these things to jab at him. Or make him bristle. Set him off. Like so many had before...

 

“I know _where_ you met Evie sweetie. And I don’t - pardon my French - but I don’t give a flying _fuck_.” She gets out honestly. Truth spilling from her lips like rain. Rain that washed away his rotten sour feelings.

 

“It doesn’t mean you’re any less of a real person to me. And I want you to know, you are _always_ welcome here.” Flo makes very plain. Clutching her whiskey again.

 

Kylo’s nodding. And he looks across at her finally.

 

“Evie loves you.” He pipes up. Flo shuts her eyes gently for a second and nods a smile.

 

“We’re _so_ very fond of that girl. She’s one in a million that one, if I may be so biased about one of _my_ babies.” Flo says with humour.

 

“If she loves you. Then I do too. And I’d do anything for the people Evie loves.” Kylo gets out softly.

 

Flo grins. Raising her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” She beams. Eyes scrunching up from the force of her smile.

 

They sip in silence. Now Billie has shifted to Nina. And the crickets still chirrup along to the incoming sweep of night. Flo pours him more whiskey. He smiles mildly again in thanks.

 

“You know she’s happy right? You make her happy.” Flo tells. Kylo stares at her for a second. Slight disbelief on his face.

 

“Haven’t seen her smile like this since well before her mama died. It’s _nice_ to see she ain’t lonely anymore.” She informs.

 

“I’m glad of that.” He says calmly. Feeling something stir his chest. But he doesn’t know what.

 

“Now-“ Flo begins. Slapping her knee. Taking a more serious, upbeat tone. “When can you bring round those big muscles to fix my porch railings?” She demands.

 

“Name the day.” Kylo pledges kindly. Sipping more whiskey.

 

“I can’t pay ya in money. _Stud_. But I can pay you in food, and beer?”

 

Kylo smiles - and it’s honest.

 

“I wouldn’t accept anything else.” He warns her. Nearly at the bottom of his glass.

 

Flo most assuredly tops him up some more. And they watch the quiet peace of lilac-blue of night roll in, together.

 

An old woman who cares too much. And a strong scarred man who doesn’t know how. 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream it out to my inbox 💕


	37. Handymen & Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t mind me. Just carrying on here with my fluff. 
> 
> Hold the damn phone - 100 bookmarks? Omg that’s INSANE!!! 💕💕 and lovely and precious and amazing and I’m going to run out of words for how astonishing that is. 
> 
> I really do have the bestest bunch of readers in the world. Infinite love and kudos to you all you gorgeous darlings. 
> 
> X o x o x o

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie got herself early into the office one blustery autumn morning. A gold scarf knotted around her neck. A big sapphire blue wool coat and then a cobalt wool hat yanked on her head. She had on thick black wool tights and her tan heeled calf boots on her legs. Her hair flew behind her from under the hat as she skipped briskly to the office. Not wanting to be late when they handed out her morning assignments.

 

She’s just dashed in the bakery for a box of assorted cinnamon swirls and cherry danishes. She clutched that box to her chest, along with her autumnal spice latte. Which she’s already drunk half of. She pushes open the glass door of the office and crisp golden leaves and a gust of wind tries to push on in behind her. She shuts the door with a lean of her hip.

 

She smiles at her colleagues as she totters over to her desk. Boots clacking on the polished walnut wood floor. She scurries behind her desk, saying good morning to Esther, Charlie, Jo, and their portly editor, Earl.

 

She opened the box of pastries on her desk, and booted up her computer as she shucked off her coat. Yanked her glasses on. Unwound her scarf and logged into the system. Today, she’s in one of the splurge outfits Kylo spoiled her with. With her woolly tights and boots she teamed a black pinafore, on top of a silky soft white blouse. Tied at the neck with a bow. She likes to think she looks professional and hopes to keep the autumnal chill away with her new monochrome look.

 

She’s just plonked her butt down in her wooden swivel armchair, when Earl appears before her, helping himself to a cherry danish.

 

“Before you take that coat off young lady. I have an assignment due for you. You better get yourself on down to the town library quick as you can...” Earl says brightly. Holding a stack of papers in one hand and the danish in the other. Littering his blue shirt front with crumbs. Muttering an “ _Oh darn it.”_ As he brushed the flaky pastry away. Evie smiles and offers him across a tissue from the box on her desk.

 

Earl was actually a lovely editor and the friendliest, softest man she knew. He was as tubby and rounded as a teddy bear. Always combed his bouncy sweep of mousy brown hair neatly. Always wore a strictly ironed shirt with a fantastic whacky vivid bow tie. Different one for each day of the week. Today’s shirt was a cloudy blue. With a shocking plum bow tie around his thick neck. His eyes were brown and ruddy, full cheeks, a plump chin, and he looked as kind as cuddly as he truly was.

 

“Oh?” Evie questions the nature of the assignment as she pulls back on her coat and slings her reporters lanyard around her neck. Her ‘Early Bird Gazette’ photo ID hung suspended in plastic down her front. She grabs her trusty notepad and black Mont Blanc ink pen. Another one of Kylo’s gifts. As was the moleskine notebook she now habitually carried in her pocket too.

 

“They’ve got a whole new wing being built for the kids section.” Earl promised excitedly. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

 

She stands and sorts out her collar. She’d had a shift at the library last week. No one had said or mentioned anything to her about a new addition. Mind, they’d been rushed off their feet. Putting their fundraiser outcomes to good use. The roof was being fixed. There was dust and debris and construction workers everywhere. Clattering. Hammering. Drilling. And she and a measly three other volunteers were bravely tackling the absolute mountain of new books they ordered with the _very_ generous donations.

 

One of the other volunteers, an old lady called Betty, had asked where all this money had come from. Esther smothered a cough and looked over at Evie with a little curl of a grin. Evie dodges the look skilfully. Drawing their attention to the wonderful new penguin classics she’d ordered.

 

“I was there last week. No one mentioned anything about an extension to the library...” She seeks. Rounding her desk to come closer to Earl.

 

“The council board only just granted permission to extend. Some big outta town company lobbied for it apparently. Just pitched right up and offered.” Earl tells her.

 

“Any-who... there’s some surveyors and architects there on site now, scoping out the build. Just go and get us a nice profile for our evening edition, would ya?” Earl asks.

 

“Give it some of that Evelyn charm and wit the readers are _all_ so fond of.” He winks at her.

 

She smiles brightly. “Of course.” As she pats his arm and moves past to the door. Remembering to take her half finished latte with her. She braces herself as she steps out into the cold day again. Walking along the sidewalk of the little town she so loves.

 

A great big splash of fall had landed and soaked everything it touched. Everywhere in this small town is maple red gold and orange. Like something off the back of a postcard. All the street lamps are wound with fake orange leaf garlands and twinkle lights. The trees are shirking all their brilliantly red leaves. Businesses have put away the summer decorations. Now autumnal colours are starting to ebb in. Out comes all the pumpkins, squashes and gourds up in every window. Maple leaves suspended on wire in each of the store front windows.

 

She calls up a god morning to Todd whose up on a ladder tacking lights in a neat line around his hardware store sign. Now it’s getting darker at night, chilly evenings drawing in like heavy velvet purple curtains, Evie knows twinkle lights will become a prominent feature in this town. Life here seemed to perk up, and start all over again when it got crisp and brisk in the fall.

 

The streets are almost reanimated from the hazy warm of summer, the sheer heat making everyone sluggish and lazy. The sun brightening everything in it’s path. Unlike winter, but before it comes and steals the sun away, then before the cold truly has its say the air will be frigid. The streets teaming with kids in their spooky Halloween costumes, running around trick or treating, hopped up on sugar and candy. Old folks wrapped up to keep the snap of cold at bay. Elderly arms full of pumpkins and gourds.

 

She tucks herself down into her warm coat. Snuggling into it. Hearing the beat of her heart. The crack of her boots on the tarmac sidewalk. Golden-red leaves scuffing underfoot. She idly kicks them along. Her mood sky high. Surrounded by her merry town in fall, her favourite season of the year.

 

Oh, summer was fine enough. She enjoys sitting on her sun soaked porch with a glass of wine as much as the next person. But autumn was just, the season she found she _adored_ the most. Curl up with a book as rain rages outside the window. Everything cold and grey but the warm orange leaves seemed such hopeful blots of colour dotted everywhere.

 

She comes closer to the town library. And indeed she sees groups of construction workers milling in and out. She sees a few well-suited men stood surveying, with their tripods and clipboards at the ready. She comes closer and realises they must be the architects. There are three of them. She approaches slowly but with purpose. Clutching her pen and pad.

 

“Excuse me. Are you from the architects office?” She beams brightly as she saunters on over. Clacking boots coming to a stop as she smiles and reaches under her coat for her ID.

 

“We are.” The one closest to her answers. He was around her age. With a youthful, kind expression on his face. Grey suit. Green tie. Expensive but not designer. He had brown hair and soulful burnt-ember eyes. He turned towards her as his two colleagues continued to work. He had a Lou’s Diner coffee cup in his hands. And she could smell the chai latte spices seeping out the takeaway lid from where she stood two metres away. His other hand was dutifully holding a clipboard.

 

“I’m Evelyn Winslow. From the Early Bird Gazette. The local paper based here in town. I’m wondering if you could spare a couple of minutes to talk about this project, on record?” She asks. She shows him her badge and he steps forwards to scrutinise it kindly. She decides to add onto his silence.

 

“It’s for our evening edition tonight. Nothing personal, you understand. No names or faces. No pictures. Just a few words about the build and the project for our readers...” Evie lays out honestly.

 

“Yeah-sure.” The guy smiles. Evie beams brightly at him. Earl wouldn’t be mad if she went back empty handed. But it happened on the rare occasions when no one wanted to talk. Baulking instantly at the word ‘Press.’ That travelled with her profession.

 

“ _Oh_ , brilliant.” She smiles. Flipping open her page. Nudging her glasses up her nose. Pen poised on the page. Ready to sprawl down quick in shorthand.

 

“On the record, how did this build come about? I noticed the council said an elusive buyer came to them to pitch the remodel.”

 

“That’s true. Word came trickling down to us in mid management. Top brass apparently. Someone very high up in our company lobbied for this build. I believe it could be a great addition to this lovely town.” He smiles. Evie scribbles it all down furiously fast.

 

“I’m curious. Is it a charity build?” She asks.

 

“As far as I’m aware. It’s almost as if it’s been required on spec. No profit will get back to the company. It is a charitable case in that sense. The council couldn’t afford the top notch fees of this proudly renowned firm.”

 

“Words spoken with true passion.” Evie smiles. “What motive was given for this project? If it’s profitless. There must be some cause for such a small town getting a hand out from a famous architecture firm...”

 

“I’m not sure exactly. I think it’s most likely close to someone’s heart. Or interests. Plus it looks good in the papers. Doing something nice for the kids. They always deserve more books to read. More places to imagine and grow in.” He explains.

 

“Very wise words indeed. I heartily agree. What kind of time frame is there for completion of this build?” She investigates.

 

“Around eight weeks. Construction starts next week. Should be done by the end of November. Just in time for Christmas is the projected deadline.” He grins. As they spoke, they’d been walking over where his colleagues had pinned out the layout of the new addition. It looked like a whole damn new wing. Almost double the size of the library itself.

 

They talk her through specs and materials. And contradiction deadlines. She even gets a glimpse of the proposed sketch of the add-on. From what she can gather the person who designed this was modern, forward thinking and innovative.

 

And, also somehow eerily _familiar_.

 

It didn’t strike her until they showed her the proposal sketch. She looked down in the right hand corner. Unfortunately the copy machine had cut off any signature. But she had a hunch...

 

“I’m a terrible reporter...” she smiles in mockery of herself. “I got so carried away with questions I never asked what company you’re all from?... And where your head office is based?” She smiles perkily as she was being shown the sketches.

 

“Our office is on west 85th.” Her familiar friend answers. Handing her one of his business cards. She takes the pristine thick rectangle of black card and glances down at it. Not the least bit surprised by the name emblazoned in sleek white name, embossed shiny and in bold, at the top.

 

_R &R Enterprises. _

 

Kylo’s firm.

She smiles a knowing grin down at the card between her fingers. And the orders had come from top brass, company higher ups, he’d said. She tries to fight off her beaming smile. Biting her lip, she shakes her head. She’s well aware the architects are frowning at her like she’s sprouted another head.

 

“Thankyou very much for your time.” She smiles. She puts her notebook and pens away.

 

Trying to stifle her happiness as she steps away. Shoving the card down in her pocket. Walking away, back to the office. Smiling like she’s loosing her mind.

 

Reminding herself to give Kylo _the_ biggest kiss when she sees him tonight.

 

 

~

 

 

Tonight was Thursday. Fix it night. As it’s become commonly known between her, Kylo and Flo. Thursday was Kylo’s allotted day off. And he spent it at Flo’s being the perfectly obedient handyman.

 

He’d promised her the night they went over for dinner - he would never break his promise to Flo. If he’d let her down, he wouldn’t only be letting a perfectly sweet old lady down. But also the memory of his own Grandma.

 

They’d gotten into a routine of sorts, him and Flo. He turns up at noon on the dot. In his pristine Henley and jeans he doesn’t mind dirtying. Flo shoves a mountainous hot lunch and litres of home made lemonade down him, before he’s even allowed to start.

 

Because no one can sway Flo Bernstein from having her own way. Even a six foot three ex con who could bench press her bodyweight, three times, with no problem at all. Kylo does as he’s told. And smiles fondly when Flo gets all irate and bossy.

 

Then, with a full belly, he makes a start on the house. He fixes the porch. Re-wires the porch light. Puts back the missing screen door hinge. And there was a thousand other things Flo can add to that list which he was happy to do. Clearing rain gutters. Mending a broken sash window. Putting up some outside twinkle lights. Cause no way in hell is he letting Arthur scale a ladder at his age - even if he’s limber and all, perfectly active, but Kylo _won’t_ have it. He won’t even entertain the idea.

 

He’s here to help. And help them, he most certainly _will_.

 

Him and Flo manage to tick a lot off her list. Today she tries to force feed him cookies and cider as he stands elevated on a stool and has a go at mending her pesky outside lights that were on the blink. The two twin lanterns above the front door.

 

He’s teetering on a stool, unscrewing the glass shade when he hears the clack of the front door, and the gentle shuffle of slippers. And Flo exits her warm kitchen, coming out into the cold to join him. It was sunny today. But the sunshine was a deceptive façade on the cold that prickles the air.

 

Kylo looks and sees a piles high plate of her chocolate chip cookies in her free hand. She’s already fed him enough of them to wave off the starvation of a small country. He likes that he already had her carved pumpkins out on the porch. Pillar candles in glass lanterns, ready for the trick or treaters at Halloween. Her front door already decorated with cute paper ghosts and ‘boo’ spooky garlands.

 

He smiles down at her. She makes her way across to her rocking chair, and gently sets herself down on it. She’s got a mug of steaming cider and a book. And now she’s tucking a wool blanket around her knees. Getting comfortable. Bo their retriever sits beside her. His head slumped on her knee as she pats him. His tail wags and sweeps the porch encrusted with dry orange leaves.

 

“Flo it’s too cold out for you.” He chides her gently. “I’m almost done here. I’ll be in soon.” He tells.

 

He could see his silvery breath on the air as he spoke. Chilling his lungs from the inside with each intake. It was _far_ too cold for her and her two dodgy hips to be out here. He will not stand to be the reason her knee plays up again.

 

“I’m fine. Sugar. Honestly, I could use the air. I got my book club ladies comin’ by later and they will be nattering on at me til the cows come home. I’ll savour the peace while I got it.” She chuckles, sipping at her cider. Runners on the rocking chair creak and crack as she sways.

 

Kylo smiles gently. “What book is it this week?” He asks. Last month it had been Tipping the Velvet. Before that he’d learnt they’d tackled The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by Ann Rice. And Nine and a Half Weeks by Elizabeth McNeill had gone before that.

 

“Lady Chatterly’s lover.” Flo beams.

 

Kylo resists the urge to chuckle. He just about manages it. _Of course it is._ He’d expect nothing less from her group of randy old biddies.

 

He’d been here last week seeing to a patch of damp above the fireplace hearth. He was on Arthur’s rickety footstool, and Flo’s gaggle of ladies were in the next room. In the living room. Nattering away like clucking hens. Flo had given them all - dirty - ice tea, and biscuits. He’d been dutifully working, a plate of cookies and a chilled Coor’s had been laid out for him.

 

He became aware that their laughter and yammering about the novel had grown suspiciously quiet. He paused, frowning and twisting around, to see they all clattered to life again when he turned his head. Otherwise, they’d all been admiring _his_ ass. Which he knew cause he heard one woman’s particular exclamation of;

 

“That’s Evie’s _one lucky_ damn girl to catch a guy with an ass and muscles like that...”

 

“I could stare at that honey all day...” someone else piped up. Kylo’s fighting off a smirk.

 

“Shut it, you hussies. Honestly. I’ll have to _hose_ you dirty lot down if you carry on.” Flo pipes up. Protective of someone she’s coming to see as another one of her adoptive babies.

 

“Kylo honey. You alright?” Flo calls through, walking in to him.

 

“Pay no mind to these filthy harlots. They’re all hopped up on Ativan and surges of post-menopausal hormones.” Flo tells him. Patting his arm gently.

 

She totters back to her group with a frown like thunder. Trying to restore order to her pack of flustered hens. She chides them all for gawping over a young man like he was no more than a hunk of meat.

 

That was met with one shy last little comment of; “ _Oh_ , he’s a hunk sure enough.” Then there came a soft slap. Presumably as Flo _batted_ her friend on the arm with the novel in her hand.

 

Kylo shakes his head. Smiling to himself as he layers some paint on the ceiling to touch up the patch he fixed. Flo growled that she will be forced to fetch a spray bottle soon enough. They go back to discussing the novel. But he still hears a tittering flurry of girly laughter when he reaches up and his fitted shirt rides slightly up his back. That had been an entertaining afternoon.

 

And he had been here - without fail every Thursday since. Flo depended on it. And he would not fail her.

 

Back to now, and Kylo can feel a cool wind pelting at his back, leaves drifting from the trees. Parting from branches like sad dry golden confetti. Settling on the grass. If he had a chance before he left, he’d help Arthur rake the leaves in the front lawn.

 

He unscrews the final sixth screw on the fiddly glass lantern. And comes down to set the heavy thing down on the porch table next to her. She smiles at him.

 

“It’s nice having you around. Sugar. I always look forwards to you comin on Thursdays.” Flo smiles. Patting Bo’s golden head as he nuzzled into her lap.

 

Kylo looks down at her. “I look forward to it too.” He says gently. Because he _did_.

 

Because it wasn’t often that he was reminded he could fix things, rather than destroy them. These past few years had him believing he was only capable of the latter. Flo’s gently pulling the former out of him. And he finds a quiet joy in it.

 

Flo changes the subject for him. “Well now. Did I ever tell ya how much I love my new porch railing?” She grins.

 

“Only a million times.” Kylo pipes up. Smiling. Cause she had. She’s said it so often in thanks. He stands, cleaning the glass lantern off with a dust rag. Before setting it down to step back up to the porch, on the ladder and readjust the faulty wire.

 

“Well. I can’t help it. It’s nice for me to have young folk to talk to...” Flo says as she watches him ascend the ladder. “All my kids are outta state or married and busy with kids.” She explains.

 

“And you can’t talk to Arthur?” Kylo asks amusedly.

 

“ _Oh_ , sugar. We’ve been married for 55 years. I think we’ve run outta topics by now. We’ve said everything on earth to each other.” She waves off.

 

Kylo doesn’t know why - but that instilled in him a sense of warm happiness. And remarking how _lucky_ Flo is to have someone like that. He would be blessed indeed if he could find something like that to have in his life.

 

He doesn’t half wonder if he’s found it _already_.

 

He refocuses on the task at hand. Screws the bulb in. Asks Flo to try the switch when he’s done. She does and his work has paid off. The light is steady and not flickering anymore. Flo thanks him once again as he screws the fiddly fitting back where it belonged. He smiles his response. Just being here - being accepted is plenty enough thanks for him. Though he wasn’t ever ready to say that aloud. But he could go ahead and think it all he likes.

 

Kylo’s silent as he finishes off the lights. Centred on his task. When he steps down. Flo pipes up and hands him over a glass of apple cider.

 

“Come on and sit honey. You’ve earned yourself a rest.” She beams up at him. Paying the arm of the chair next to her. He nudges the sweat off his brow with his forearm and takes the glass from her gratefully. They ease down into comfy silence as they take their seats. Watching scuttling leaves fall and skim across the lawn in the sunshine. A drift of wind stealing crisp golden leaves from each and every tree.

 

“I’ve always loved how peaceful it is out here.” Flo off seriously.

 

Kylo hums in confirmation.

 

“You sure picked a good spot for this house. I can’t deny it.” He speaks up. Happily creaking back in his rocking chair. Feeling the wood whine at his weight. Every crack where it rocked against the floor.

 

“It’s been my home now, for _57_ years.” Flo let’s out. “This old place is as much a part of me as my legs and my arms.” Flo chuckles.

 

“Even the bits of me that ain’t gettin’ on so good with age. Like my knee... or my damn hip. In a way, that is like this house. A bit shabby around the edges. But can’t shake it. It’s _home_.”

 

“I’ve seen a lot less than this which doesn’t even deserve that particular name.” Kylo tells. Meaning the hell-hole he grew up in.

 

He was always puzzled when his mom called it ‘home’. It had never been that to him. He’d never had a home. It was just a series of walls. Haunted by pain and misery. Every day that he spent in it, made him more desperate to light a match and watch it all go up in flames. _Then_ he’d know some peace. When their block was condemned to rubble by a developer after college, Kylo remembers feeling glad that a construction team would’ve torn through that godawful place and mushed it down to the nothing it always deserved to be.

 

Kylo wonders if ever he could feel differently about his house one day. Feel like it’s that four letter word he never uses. There’s one way he knows for certain that he can- but again. It’s a step he doesn’t feel ready to tackle _just_ yet. And of course, this next house of his would be different. It’d have a certain ladies touch to it. No more bachelor designs for him if he could help it.

 

He thinks that little musing makes him happy. _He’s happy?_

_He very well might_ _be._ _  
_

He settles into that. For the first time in his life he lets himself sink into that newfound emotion. It was something he never pictured himself experiencing. Never thought he’d have this- a lover. Acceptance. New friends. A fresh new plethora of acceptances from honest-to-god  _good_ people.

 

After all, when he’s spent so long shoved to the wayside being treated as a dangerous outsider left looking in. It’s sadly become expected that he’ll be there again, someday. Somehow.

 

_But for now?_

 

Here he is, sat on a sunny autumn porch, with someone genuinely loving who is becoming almost a second Grandma to him, sipping sweet strong cider and being the perfectly handy handyman. He wouldn’t change this for anything on earth.

 

“I do love this time of year. Makes everythin’ all, cozy like.” Flo says.

 

“I like Winter too.” Kylo adds. Having drained half his glass. “Like it when it snows.”

 

“It’s gorgeous here when it snows.” Flo agrees.

 

“I’ve got a cabin up in the rockies that I use every Winter, up near Colorado. I designed it and it’s always where I go at Christmas. I just love watching the snow fall in a quiet forest.”

 

“That sounds tranquil.” Flo says enviously.

 

“Come Xmas, I’m in that kitchen up to my ears in turkey and stuffin’. With the house packed to the seams. And full of noise and booze and grandkids. I have to come out here at night with a whiskey just to get a lil peace and quiet.” Flo chuckles mildly.

 

“Sounds... _busy_.” Kylo smiles.

 

“ _Oh_ it is. And for those three days. I barely get time to hear my own thoughts. Barely get time to myself. Barely get a second alone. And then when everyone goes home? The silence almost seems too thick and awful.” She tells. Before she leans in and pats his knee.

 

“Mind, don’t tell any of my kids or my grandbabies that I said _that_.” Flo laughs.

 

“What’s said on the porch, _stays_ with the porch.” Kylo assures her mirthfully. Tipping his glass up in a salute.

 

They watch more of the leaves fall in front of them. Watch them drift. Twirling to the lawn.

 

“Well. At least you won’t be alone this Xmas, huh sugar?” Flo smiles. Keeping the conversation light. Not wanting to flip any of his switches.

 

He smiles. “ _No_. I won’t.” He accepts. Because he doesn’t know where Evie and him are headed. But he knows he likes it. And for now, that’s more than enough. He’s going to bask in the calm she gives and see where it takes them.

 

Commitment was always something of a rocky subject for him. It never appealed with any of his exes. But, of course, it had to be different with his Kitten.

 

Flo didn’t press him about it - he knew she was inferring that he could make that trip to his cabin this Xmas, for once, not on his own. He wasn’t one for easily giving up his own personal traditions. But that he thinks he can gladly alter for his Evie.

 

“You two look happy together. And I think it’s lovely to see. I care about you two a great deal you know...” Flo declares.

 

Kylo swallows in pride and looks across to her. “The feelings mutual.” He says warmly.

 

Flo grins. “Speakin’ of _our_ girl...”

 

She nods towards the front garden. Where a little blue Honda is just puttering smoothly up the drive. Lurching to a stop.

 

He fixated on her. The way her hair shines rusty in autumn sunshine as she gets out the car. Looking awful cute draped in her Prussian blue, cashmere wool coat.

 

The one he’d taken one look at and bought for her - he was there when she dragged her beaten old thin trench coat out the cupboard. A moth flew out the skirts and it barely looked thicker than paper. He crossed his arms stiffly and smiles a ‘ _No._ ’ at her when she said it was still perfectly usable.

 

She was not flitting around to and from assignments on a cold autumn in that flimsy coat. She’d freeze to death if it got frosty out.

 

The next day a polished delivery box from Burberry turned up. And that coat was inside. He’d tucked it around her, and tugged her in for a kiss by clutching the lapels. “ _To help keep you warm when I’m not around, Kitten_...” He’d grinned.

 

Her yellow scarf was on her neck. And she was wearing those tan boots and that sexy black pinafore. The one he loves that hugs her thighs and pert little round ass. She strides up through the garden. Greeting the dogs. Her rosebud smile too sweet for this rotten goddamn earth, Kylo thinks.

 

_Certainly too good for_ _t_ _he likes of his black heart._ _  
_

Kylo feels what he usually feels when he watches Evie come near; it’s refreshing and almost therapeutic. Contented.

 

_Calm. Calm. Calm._

 

He stands his glass down on the table. Creaking forwards to sit up to attention. Evie smiles across at the both of them.

 

“She hasn’t gotten you drunk already has she?” Evie seeks as she steps up the porch.

 

“Only Cider, toots.” Flo smiles.

 

Flipping off her blanket from her knees and standing to give Evie a rickety hug. They sway into it. Hugging gladly. The way families embrace each other.

 

“Can I fetch you a cup of somethin?” Flo asks her.

 

“I could murder a cup of tea.” Evie smiles. “I’ll go.” Evie points to the kitchen. Flo pats her hand.

 

“You will _not_. Stay and enjoy your man. I’m on the tea.” She winks. Turning back after tottering away.

 

“Don’t enjoy him too much now. He still has my upstairs landing to see too...” She winks. Pointing a cautionary finger. Before she opens her newly mended screen door and shuffled inside.

 

Evie looks to Kylo. Stepping across. He reaches over to palm a hip. Slipping under warm coat. Cupping her hip. She leaned down for a kiss. Her fingers tangling into his thick silky mane. They kiss. Low. Heavy. Lazy.

 

She squeaks when Kylo hauls her onto his lap. Needing her closer. Nuzzling her neck. Her perfume and hair and her sweet skins scent woven into her scarf.

 

_He drags in a pure shot of Evie_.

 

His nose is cold and it tickles as it prods her. She clutches onto him gladly. One palm warms itself on her black pantyhose-clad thigh. And here, he was usually the hot blooded one.

 

“Is she working your fingers to the bone?” She asks guiltily. Smiling into his lips as he greedily steals another slow kiss. Gripping her close.

 

“She’s a decent enough employer.” He smiles. “Fills me with food until my jeans feel tight.” She looks down and drags a hand over his hip. Near his waistband. He seized a little. Arousal flaring up in his body. His eyes turn that bright stormy dark.

 

“I should’ve warned you. She’s a _feeder_.” Evie explains with a smile.

 

He’s happy to just hold her. Have her near. Not so distantly, he would’ve correlated her closeness with only sating his lust. Now, he actually gets a chance to feel all these powerful, beautiful quiet things she does to alter his mood for the better.

 

“I’m happy to be doing her favours.” He tells her. “I like getting the chance to fix things up for her and Arthur.”

 

She smiles and rearranged that soft untamed tangle of tresses on his head. Just watching his face. Scars. Moles and all. She happily and wholeheartedly believes there’s not a more handsome man than him on this planet that draws breath.

 

And she’s looking at him with that indomitable brand of her soft love centre stage in her eyes because of what she learnt of him this morning. Admiring him. Like a moony eyed idiot. Or as Flo likes to call it; her ‘ _Harlequin romance novel cover look.’_

 

“What is it?” He seeks. A frown crowning his brows.

 

She says nothing. Just cups his cheek in her warm little hand, and kisses him. Full on. Plush lips moulding to hers.

 

When they pull back; it’s with scorching hot breath fanning each other’s mouths. It’s intimate. And that fact doesn’t scare him one bit - like it used to.

 

“Will you come somewhere with me after this? There’s something I want to show you...” She pipes up.

 

His thumb gently strokes her cheekbone. “Of course I will. Kitten.” He mumbles with a smile.

 

 

~

 

 

This wasn’t at all what he was expecting.

 

On their way home from Flo’s after many, many, helpings of cookies and cider, they’re driving back through town in her car when she suddenly pulls over and claims a parking spot near the town square.

 

Kylo looks over uncertain as she undoes her seatbelt. It clacks back to the drivers side and she smiles enigmatically at him as she gets out the car. He tilts his head in confusion. But soon follows.

 

They cross the road in a stride. He holds his hand out for Evie to take. They dash across the road before a car comes along. The sky now bursting with purple and copper and peach. The sunset taking away the light. Twinkle lights beamed and winked everywhere, and fat stout pumpkins decorated every porch step in town. Each one wearing a varying sinister carved leer.

 

Evie leads them a ways along the crunching leafy sidewalk. Before she eventually leads him to a stop - in front of an empty storefront.

 

And there was a ‘ _for sale’_ sign perched innocently in the window. He didn’t need to put two and two together.

 

He scans across the neglected space. Chipped turquoise paint on the wooden frame windows and hand painted shop sign. White washed windows to hide the interior from view. It was definitely an old shop. ‘ _Antiques, rare books, and furniture,’_  boasted the peeling gold paint lettering above the doorway.

 

‘ _Stone Family Antiques. Established 1903.’_

 

Kylo glances across to see she’s watching him anxiously.

 

“I wanted your expert eye to let me know what you think...” She begins nervously.

 

“I love the job at the paper. But I don’t want to stay writing columns at the Early Bird Gazette forever... this was just an idea I had. To open a book store. Something I always wanted when I had the time. And what time could be more _perfect_ than now?” She asks gently. Folding her hands nervously.

 

“I’ve certainly got the time. And I think my chances at a loan are pretty fair.” She smiles. Eyes glowing with the pictured magic of the shop she could glimpse in its future. She didn’t see it as it was now. All wrinkled and faded. She could see it bright and healthy. As a prosperous cosy shop. Providing succour for every book lover such as she. A place of imagination. And refuge.

 

Kylo listens. Then sweeps his eyes over the shop again. It was in the busy part of town. Near the bakery, and the Diner.

 

“There is no other book store in town. I’d be filling a need. There hasn’t been a book store here since the owners of this antique and rare book store, Shelley and Pat, retired to Minnesota twenty years ago.” She tells him. Wringing her hands nervously. _Still_.

 

His silence was worrisome. Maybe he thought this was a _bad idea?_ _  
_

He looks at the run down place a little longer. And he starts to see its promise too. Massive fixed arch windows forming the front. An Edwardian style inlaid doorway. With cracked and missing black and white diamond tile on the porch step. A restored timber shop front. It was a beautiful old ruin.

 

“What do you think?” She frets. He turns and finds her pretty face all scrunched and pinched. He kisses her hand.

 

Then he smiles.

 

“I can see you in that window behind a neat, cute walnut wood counter selling books. Having a ‘ _Winslow Book Emporium’_ looming all neat in a hand painted sign above that door.” He beams.

 

Evie sighs in relief. “You can?” She asks thoughtfully.

 

They turn and look at the store together. Envisioning the possibilities of giving this place some new lease of life.

 

Kylo’s draws her close. Arm slipping around her back. The longer he looked. The more rational the idea became. He could see her in that store. Surrounded by things she loves. In the town she knows, being a perfect success. And how he wanted nothing more than to help her accomplish it...

 

“I _really_ can.” He smirks. She hugs him back gratefully. Their hands slip and join together.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me with the damage 💕


	38. Acceptance & Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me; a nihilistic gen z awkward sod at best of times. 
> 
> *laughs nervously in disbelief at the sheer amount of love, kudos, hits, comments this story has*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news like this, Evie. But _unfortunately_ that particular store lot closed sale with another buyer just last night.” The realtor opposite her winced.

 

She had been sat, hopeful, in her towns local realtors building. Facing John, a man she’s known all her life. Sat opposite her, a picture of professionally in his navy suit and red tie. And he wore a face that she thought was far too pinched ever since she’d come in and taken a seat in his modest office. Too good to be true - that plain old pain in the ribs of an expression.

 

It applied too, to her now trashed hope. She felt it. How its caving in her chest. Denying her the right to breathe.

 

She’d come to put in her healthy bid of almost half her carefully earned savings for the old antique store. Only to have that small glimmering dream now snatched away, dashed to dust, before it even had a chance to grow into fruition.

 

_It had been sold._

 

Her dream so viciously slaughtered at the first hurdle. She felt like the crushing sadness of it could break her ribs.

 

Her heart sank. It crashed instantly to her toes. Through the floor. And the floor below that, she’s certain. Right through the foundations of the realtors building.

 

Matter of fact, it felt like it had just clunked _right_ out of her and right on down to the earths core.

 

The only sound that could crackle out her sad throat was a sore “Oh.” Which was more like a sound of a gust of air being squeezed out her lungs in a rattle. A croak is what it was. And it’s soaked in her sad disappointment.

 

“We have a couple of other lots available in town?” He tries to console her with. “There’s a great spot just come up on peach street. And- and a charming new ones just opened up over on third avenue...” He brings out thick brochures and hands her pictures. She accepts them with shaky hands and a trembling smile.

 

But. But. But-

 

_But it’s just not the same_ , she remarks to herself in her head.

 

She’d admired that antique store since she was a tiny girl. She can remember being walked past it. Holding her mothers hand. She remembers how the first time she went inside, she’d been fascinated by all the old treasures in there. Settees that looked like they belonged in palaces. Old cracked leather chairs. Misty glass ornate mirrors. Gnarled and twisted stuffed animals and trinkets and ornaments of old. A rusty chandelier sparkling sunshine. Old busts and creaking mahogany tables.

 

The place had looked more like an old store closet than a shop. Everything piled and overlapped. A quirky collection of haunted looking items all bundled together, higgledy piggledy and waiting on new homes.

 

She can earnestly recall that scent of the place. A smack in that face at the door. Dust. Musty leather. And beeswax furniture polish. She wonders if that smell is still to be found in the cracked tile floors. Or if it’s snuck in to hide in the cracked and peeling paint on the ceiling.

 

No shop could replace that ruin. _Not_ truly. Not in her heart. It’s grown on her in ideas ever since she first thought about it. Daydreaming, sat at her desk in Armstrong & Lowery, usually after her boss had made her miserable with some assignment or comment. Or another column had been thrown back on her desk after editing. Literally left her paper bleeding, and picked with corrections from his red pen.

 

She’d think of that empty dusty old shop. And how it needed some love and attention. And all the ‘ _what if’s_ ’ that followed. And it was like a great soothing hug to her frazzled nerves.

 

What if... she’d packed in her job and gone out with a bang. To go do a job that made her happy, one where she’d be appreciated day in-day out. What if... she was the lucky one to turn that shop into an asset for this lovely little town that helped raise her. What if...she’d been braver sooner. Been a lioness instead of a mouse. Leapt at the opportunity to buy the store the very second it came on the market. Then she’d be the happy shopkeeper locking up at night. And hanging seasonal decor in the big bright windows.

 

Maybe it was for the best. She didn’t exactly have a business savvy head. This is a shining example. She’s become too emotionally invested in the first shop she’s even looked at. She’s done no market research or planning. She’s a fool. And she feels it.

 

And she was _never_ a one to not feel things so deeply. Words can do this thing to her. She believes in and knows the great sacred power of words. Bad ones or good ones. They can sink in and live under her skin.

 

She thinks how sore she feels, knowing this opportunity, this dream fantasy, has slipped her by. She can’t help but ache over it. The loss.

 

She likes how the sunshine glints ochre off the front window in summer. How it looks almost Edwardian with the timber front arched windows, and the black and white pointed tiles on the floors. The walnut countertop and shelves behind it, hemmed into the wall. She likes the way the windows invite curiosity to peek inside. It really was one of a kind treasure trove.

 

And all her pointless dreams have now been tugged out from under her feet - that would teach her to be so reticent in the future.

 

“I’m sorry to press the issue -but can I ask who in town has bought the store?” She gets out in a remarkably even voice. Even though she’s crumbling away.

 

He considers with a sigh. Not wanting to disappoint her further.

 

“I’m afraid they didn’t give a name. It’s left anonymous. Paid in cash too. No way to trace it. I think it’s an out of towner. There were a fair few competing bids on it if I’m honest.” John let’s her hear.

 

She nods. Bucking herself up. Dusting herself off. Teaching herself to be better next time. Smarter. Quicker to the punch.

 

“Well then.” She sighs. Slapping her hands to her lap. “Sorry to have wasted your time. Thank you for seeing me, John. Give my best to Karen and the kids.” She smiles. Easing up from her seat to offer him a handshake and a very false smile.

 

“I really am sorry. Evie. You know I shouldn’t tell you this. But I’d much sooner that shop went to _you_ , than some money grabbing tycoon from some big city.” He explains.

 

The passion and heat in his voice makes her smile.

 

“Let’s hope that shop has a bright future ahead with its new owner.” She says. Because anything else will clog up her throat with more tears.

 

She folds her hands shyly in front of her. Navy leather gloves rubbing together. He stands and goes to the door. Opening it for her. “Do you want me to know if anymore store lots come up?” He enquires kindly.

 

_No, please._ Evie thinks. _Give me a while to grieve over my pathetic dream._

_“_ Of course. You have my email?” She seeks. He nods glumly. Sorry he couldn’t help her.

 

“Thank you John. Have a nice rest of the day.” She beams. Sliding quietly out the door and off through the busy offices. Heels clack. Keyboards clatter. Phones ring and people natter as they answer them.

 

She heads down the stairs and comes out into a bright cold afternoon. The sky was ungoverned by cloud. Blue great, great gentle blue, reaches on for miles in the sky. Only broken up by the blaze of a golden sun that doesn’t even warm the frost in the air. She takes a deep lungful of it. Looking out on the divine autumn. Before she shoves her hands in her pockets, deep and heads to the square where she parked her car.

 

She doesn’t want to look - but nonetheless she finds she does. It takes all her strength to peek across the town green, and find her cozy little shop, winking across at her - the way the light caught on the window. In exactly the way she adored. Her heart pounds with pain. Heartbeat pulsing, hurting.

 

She sends up a silent prayer and then a curse. To whomever was listening. That they’d keep the charm and glamour of that old place alive. It would stab into her heart like a dagger if she sees it turned into a tacky echo of its former self.

 

A beautiful place like that deserves to be cherished. How sad it is, she’d even started to think on names for that hand painted sign she’d have to go above the door.

 

_Winslow & Stone Books. _A bit of her. Her family. Not her dads surname - Annie had never taken it. It was _her_ name. As it was her mother’s, and her grandmothers before her. Celebrating a bit of the antique past to come with its walls. She knew Shelley and Pat. They appreciated the layers upon layers of history that made up places today - often spoke sadly of the lack thereof. She’d honour them in that significant way as their shop deserved. Dignified. Homely. Professional.

 

Now it’s like a punch to her stomach. And she can feel her grip on her life’s dream slipping away. Like sand draining away, slithering through her fingers, with no hope of clutching onto it.

 

She’s miserable as she climbs in her car. And scuttles off home. Head and heart hanging down, grey and heavy and drenched in shame. Not even the speckles of sunshine shafting through the green wood shifted her mood. It did usually.

 

She winds up her drive and pulls slowly to a stop. Determined to look on the bright side of things. Silver lining. She always sniffed out her silver linings. Turning everything over in her head until she made good of it

 

With that shop gone, it opens up more possibilities. A bigger store in a bigger, busier town? Maybe she could get two floors. Two storeys? A whole team of staff to help run it. Have a rare books section. And big prop decorated book displays on certain topics like gardening or thrillers. Have reading nooks dotted everywhere, cosy chairs, a kids corner and...

 

_And-_ it would be lovely. If it weren’t for the silly dream stuck doggedly in her head that the town store was _just_ right. Not too big. Not too small. She could run it with scant help. And stuff it full of treasures.

 

Only, now, she couldn’t. And she has to set her wishes aside.

 

She slams her car door behind her. Mood safely on the wrong side of sour and saddened. She trudges up the garden path which was still spiky and glittering with frost. At present she wants nothing more to do than to wallow under her duvet and cry a few tears of frustration onto Kylo’s big safe shoulder.

 

Speaking of that particular handsome devil- he’s in her sunny study when she opens her front door and plods on in. She gives him a wordless sigh and a meekly defeated smile.

 

He’s on her squashy old couch next to her desk. Surrounded by plump rosebud pink cushions. Sprawled out those thick legs like a resting cricket. A steaming swirling mug of coffee to hand. Looking divinely, heart stoppingly sexy in a grey v-neck cashmere and dark jeans. Just wool black socks on his big feet. And those Hugo boss glasses perched on his big perfect nose. The sun beaming in behind him turned his skin to ivory cream. And his hair both the colour of burnt umber and black granite in the suns ferocity.

 

He gazing through his work iPad. Scrolling with a big thumb when he looks up and spots her. A grin pulls his lips. As he lays down all notions of work for a second.

 

“How’d it go?” He seeks. That deep, brassy voice is like honey to her frayed temper. It’s sweet and too-nice to bear.

 

Evie’s just stepping out her black heels. Consigning them to beside her prickly door mat. Yanking her cosy Burberry coat off. Shoving gloves in the pockets and stringing it up on the rack. Leaving her in black pantyhose. A white blouse. And a truly sensible grey, loose-cut, pencil straight tweed skirt. Boring. Safe. yet professional, she thought.

 

Now she just wants to bury her head in his chest and cry til she runs out of tears. Her voice is thick, burdened, when she answers.

 

“Not well.” She mopes in a mumble. Hands loosely crossed around her middle. Pulling herself together. Chiding herself that; _It’s only a shop. There’s plenty others in the world, Winslow._

Kylo lays down his iPad and stands down his coffee on her windowsill. He frowns. Then he tilts his head. Sighing. Beckoning her over with a nudge of his chin.

 

And pats his thigh. Encouraging her to go perch on it.

 

She hesitates. Rubbing one crease of her elbow with the other hand.

 

“I will come over there and _get_ you, if forced.” He warns lowly. “Come. _Sit_.” He tells. And he’s not in the habit of being disobeyed.

 

She staggers closer and reaches out for his hand, he reels her in. Tugging her onto his lap. One hand around her hip. The other holds her folded knees. She gets lost - sat cradled on his gigantic wide body.

 

“What happened? And do I need to make a call...” He says grimly. Dark expression searching her sweetly earnest face that could never hide a thing from him. His mood is oddly upbeat.

 

Evie sags boneless onto him and let’s his shoulder be her support. Let’s those muscles keep her in good standing. He’s all cashmere. Cologne and coffee today. And she nuzzles into that tattooed warmth. Her cold nose finding his neck. His hand strokes her back. And the feeling of his heartbeat through his clothes, in his chest, makes her serene again.

 

“No. No. It’s _silly_.” She complains nervously. “It’s so silly. It’s just... my- _the_ shop... has sold. And I’m...” She shrugs.

 

“Disappointed? I guess. I’d just started to hope about that store. And now I feel like I’m back to square one all over again.” She let’s out. Tucking herself right into him. Curling up like a folding rosebud. Concealing herself from the world, and all its harshness within that could taint and rip her silky petals.

 

Kylo’s humming a thoughtful, yet annoyed, noise. The sound is a deeply low buzz that rattled the air around them. The air their sharing so closely. So _nicely_. _  
_

Her cheek flattens to his shoulder and he turns his head to smack a soft kiss at her brow. Folds of his neck crinkling up under his chin at the awkward sharp down angle. She runs her finger down the right side of his face. Following its jagged track she’d trod a hundred times with fingertips alone. He didn’t stiffen when she did it now. Didn’t flinch away. He rather relaxed into it instead.

 

Closed his eyes. Gets lost in her kind touch. Shuts his thoughts down and let’s her do it. Shuts his eyes as if he’s basking in he warmth of the sun on his skin. Let’s her love soothe him and his paranoia into quiet.

 

He frowns a lot in his sleep too. She noticed early on. She’s now developed a habit of smoothing out those pesky frown lines with her thumb. He arcs his face into her hands when she does touch him. Like a big cat purring for more fusses and attention. She gives him whatever caresses and touches he wants - so long as that nuisance of a frown goes.

 

“It’s sold?” He seeks. She folds her hands up and nods. Shuffling her head where it rested on her shoulder. Leaning into him fully. Curled up safe in his lap. She wanted to move into his chest and burrow in there for a while like a pathetic little hibernating creature.

 

“I’ll start having to look for other stores... I’ve already given my notice at the paper. I’ve two weeks left of it now.” She tells.

 

Truthfully, she was a little sad to be leaving the Gazette. It had been a great net to catch her when she felt so down about her career as a writer. She’d hoped she was quitting it to go onto brighter things.

 

Kylo’s hearing and feeling her sadness. It drops off her like rain. Soaking cold into his clothes. He knew his Kitten was a sentimental person. She took things to heart - as difficult as it was for a man who didn’t have one to come to terms with. He knew what potent stock she put into her dreams.

 

He makes another sad yet thoughtful noise. A big hand curls around her thigh and he reaches for his IPad. He brings it in, and sets it on her knees so they can both see the screen. Evie wonders why when she watches the dark screen shift to life.

 

He swipes over it, those big fingers delicately bring up an official looking scanned document. She doesn’t look too closely. She only skims it. It was legal. It was all neat and typed in black and white.

 

It was a property deed...

 

She instantly sits up and lifts the screen so she can read it. The legal jargon lost on her and very verbose. But one thing shone clear from this document. The deed is for the store. The store. _Her_ store. Signed and bought.

 

She looks over to Kylo. His smile was soft and barely there. But his eyes were smouldering with mirth at her. She tries to form the words.

 

“You..?” She gapes and stutters. All that happy, once-lost hope returning to her torso. Zinging around in her blood like fireworks popping. Her lungs feel too big for her chest. She wants to bloody well _burst_ with all this swelling happiness.

 

He smiles wider. Curling smirk. And it’s smug and devious and brilliant she wants to throw herself on him and kiss every inch of skin she can find.

 

“I can’t- you. I can’t take this. It’s-“ She stammers. Treating that property deed like it was manna straight from heaven itself.

 

“I know how much you love that place, Evie. I also didn’t want you bankrupt and struggling in debt with a loan for the rest of your life because you want to act on this dream of yours.” He says succinctly. As if he hadn’t just hand-delivered her this bombshell of a great kind thing.

 

She blinks. Bringing both hands up to clutch at his warm tattooed neck.

 

“Can we talk about ugh, projections for me repaying your-“

 

“ _No_.” He dismisses suavely. And that was that. “Property investment.” He explains.

 

She looks flustered and excited.

 

“Kylo-I.” She struggles. So she does the one thing that she can do. She kisses him. She lets her happiness flow to her lips and she then smothers him with it. Draws his face in close and doesn’t stop kissing him like she demented and fevered.

 

He chuckles onto her lips and pulls back, breathless. “ _Thank you_.” She whispers that small, soft little hush onto his mouth. Her arms strung around his neck. Hers still clutching her hip and her knees.

 

He nuzzles the tip of that big nose into her cheek. Prodding her. Giving her another sweet kiss that leaves both their lips tingling. Mites of nothing twirl around them on the autumn sunshine air. Illuminated and made great by it. And they’re clutching onto each other with so much love and gratefulness. As if they wanted to swallow each other up whole. Such close, crushing intimacy.

 

The thing Kylo’s not even close to understanding about Evie yet- her acceptance.

 

He doesn’t trust it. Not even her. He’s been formed never to trust anything. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

And all she ever does is smile, and pull him closer. Snuggle up to him when they’re in bed. Hold onto his hand proud and doesn’t care who sees. It looks like he’s showing her off to the world. When in fact it’s the _opposite_.

 

_It’s her showing him off as if she couldn’t be anymore proud of who she loves. As if he was deserving of her goodness._

 

She loves purely and wholeheartedly. She dates him for him as a whole person. The entirety. All of it. The nasty stuff he keeps under wraps. The parts of him half-maintained, half-constructed pieces of himself that he’s working on. Because that’s how she loves.

 

That is how she loves him- and she does. Love him. She does it all facing forwards. Both eyes open. Completely wise to it all.

 

She hasn’t said it. She hopes her actions speak of it. She’s not expecting to hear it back. Maybe it’s too much to ever expect hear it being said _at all._ Maybe she is the earths biggest fool for letting herself get away with what’s unsaid between them. But she neither knows, nor cares. She knows she’s happy. And she supposed he must be - he is a severe and intense person and wouldn’t be here with her if he wasn’t even _slightly_ happy.

 

She can also see how it’s going to take him a while to get there - and she’s got all the time to wait for him.

 

She opens her mouth, cause foolishly, she was open to say those three, weighty little words.

 

“I lo-“ she sighs. And smiles. “I can’t thank you enough. Kylo. Truly.” She says. Utterly moved.

 

He takes one hand off her and slips into his jeans pocket. Coming out with a set of keys. They glimmer silver in the sunshine. Proud and hopeful. Winking at her with the promise they literally represented.

 

“I’d figured we’d go and take a peek inside.” He drops the keys in her open palm. Old rust like hot pennies reaches her nose from the aged keys.

 

She nods. Deplorably happy. Delirious. So happy and full up that she could burst.

 

Kylo’s then tugging her waist in, to crush her closer. “In a little while...” He adds to her hopping excitement. His voice is that low horny growl she knows and loves.

 

His eyes slice into her. Charcoal and oozing honey and all full up of dirty promise.

 

He suddenly stands. Yanking her up in his arms. Carrying her like it’s nothing - _oh but she’s everything._

He does explain his motives as he carries her upstairs _._ With a smug grin that would make the Cheshire Cat proud _._

“We can celebrate and go to your store later. Right now? you’re gonna sit that pussy on my face.”

 

Her laughs and kisses of thanks soon turned to moans. He made sure of it.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Autumn grows colder the more it shifts along. Icy mornings start to crisp everything up, Halloween isn’t too far away, merely a few weeks. And Evie has never been so busy in all her life.

 

Her store. Her beautiful precious store, has been gutted and painted. The floors have been restored. As has the moulding and the front arched windows. She insisted on keeping the big walnut wood counter - even though Kylo disagrees. She saw beauty in the old scratched counter and the panelled desk that would serve her as she served her customers. She fought valiantly for its stay. He of course, indulges her. Smiling and shaking his head at her defence.

 

They’ve both chucked in their time to the project. He’s given her all his spare time. Devoted days off to this. And it’s coming along like her finest, best-saved dream.

 

Every day something new arrives. Something else it fixed up for use. And it’s _wonderful_.

 

He did her a completely brilliant interior plan which she adored. He found contacts to restore the shelves, the floors, the windows. He even found someone to come and paint the windows. Like old fashioned Edwardian antique windows. They now proudly emblazoned her shops name. _Winslow & Stone Books_.

 

He wouldn’t even let her sink a penny in to pay the workmen, either. And she knows they weren’t cheap. Restorative work never was. She clamours. Begs. He won’t budge.

 

“ _Save it for your books, Kitten. I don’t need any of it.”_

He helped her find a sign maker, and sat down with her to go over every legal detail. Making sure it was all ironed out. From the formation, to the banking and then the state revenue agency for tax. Kylo had never seen her so happy as the day her license for trading came in the post. She framed it for gods sake. A scanned copy was up in her hallway, standing proud. He likes how she cherished every little thing.

 

They were in the store most days. The whole town got used to them both as fixtures there. Treated to the sight of their familiar booky-writer entrepreneur and the hulking great scarred handy man. Like thunder and sunshine grouped together. Unlikely, but adorable.

 

Kylo’s becoming quite the handy man these days. What with his work for Flo still ongoing. Every Thursday, noon on the dot. And now here, helping Evie up shelves. Or paint the ceiling - he was a human tree, he could reach better. Or he used those muscles to help her move around the great big walnut polished, oval display tables he helped her ship in from an antique place up near Boston. Colonial pieces. Used in ye bookshops of olde, she likes to imagine. She wonders what things they displayed in their lifetime. Safe books, racy books, or something stuffy and religious. Perhaps some illegal pamphlets at some point in time? She wonders about it all.

 

He helps her put in the light fittings. Make sure all the lines get installed. Helps her source stock, and ensures no flighty workmen jerk her about. Kylo’s noticed that when electricians, or contractors come to install another new thing, they seem to brighten at the sight of Kitten greeting them. In her too big paint specked plaid blue. shirt. Hair pushed off her face with a flowery silk headscarf tied in a floppy bow. Cuffed jeans also covered in paint and dust and very grimy crumpled beige sneakers on her feet. She smiled. Asked if their having a nice morning as she lets them in the shop.

 

Beaming at that them with her trusting smile as she tells them where to be. And asks if they want coffee - from the bakery next door. She had a tab and hadn’t gotten around to making the tiny cupboard of a break room up yet.

 

He didn’t want some amateur taking advantage of her kindness and money. Thinking she was a dumb trick. That’s why he sourced people he relied on and trusted in the industry. He paid healthy wages and bonuses to keep them on track. Feigning total and utter innocence when Evie remarked she was impressed at how quickly they finished the jobs. He smirked to himself and empathised with her.

 

One night they stay late working, fixing, painting - she runs down to Guiseppes and gets them two loaded pizzas and a four pack of beers from the market. So domestic. The working couple. They eat and smile, and drink. Trying not to let any dust get in the beers or on the pizza. There were dust sheets everywhere and they had their picnic sat on the floor, as they try to, between them, look through the to-do list together. Seeing most of it ticked off. A particularly racy kiss that could’ve turned into something far greater - right there on the cold tiled floor makes them reassess. They needed sleep and rest, and maybe some sex too. Having put it off lately they were both so busy.

 

For a couple weeks they’ve both barely had energy to shower at night before they flop into bed. Sex was lately just a mornings frustration for him, to wake up with a hard on, curled up next to her. He delights knowing it’ll settle more when the shops ready to open. Then their honeymoon period can resume in full force. He can get back to eating her awake some mornings before he rushes off to work, and resume that routine fucking each other through the mattress at night - _all night._

 

For now - sans pent up sexual frustration. He is honest to god, _happy_. Happy to be helping her like that. Happy to be included. Needed.

 

For the first time in his life he feels what it’s like to be needed and cherished. Evie telling him with a soft kiss to the jaw as they lay exhausted - from painting - in bed at night, that she couldn’t do this without him.

 

He’s amazed by how much the town pitches in too. She got all the paint and hardware tools, brackets, wiring and god knows what else from Todd’s hardware just three doors down. Kylo found out she used to babysit his kids before they grew up and went off to college. So this was her payback. She had a special discount and tab that never needed paying until she’s ready.

 

The curvy girl from the florist shop with wildflower tattoos and whacky coloured hair gave Evie two small box trees to flank the doors. And planters to go below the windows outside. A couple of hanging baskets too. On the house. And if she needed pumpkins for her window display, she could go and have her pick of them all at any time.

 

On and on it goes. The generosity never stops. She knows the old lady who runs the craft and knitting shop. Of course he learns she’s a friend of Flo’s. The one who called him a hunk at Flo’s book meeting. She’s allowing Evie 50% off any props she needs for her window displays. The bakery guys opened the “Winslow” tab and even suggested a fair swap with vouchers. Buy three books, get a free coffee special. And she’d give out bakery tokens and the like, to help out a fellow local independent business. Comrades in arms.

 

Kylo’s heart feels full. It seems like every day since they started renovating someone turns up with a pie to hand, or a kind word, or something free cause Evie’s known them since birth. Or, on one occasion, a bottle of wine for her, and whiskey for him (Flo of course) he can see how this town will pour nothing but love and support through her shops door. It’s overwhelming. But heartening.

 

Their love extends to him too - naturally. Evie’s found goodness in him? Good. Then so does the rest of the town as far as all is concerned. He gets to know everyone by name. Grows familiar with them. Starts waving to Flo’s book club ladies as they walk past - they’re always sure to wave greatly at him first.

 

He finds when he has days actually being at work and running his own company, that he comes to miss being with Evie in that shop. Sanding shelves, or staining wood. Fixing, mending, working with his hands. It’s sort of becoming his therapy in a way. Helping to heal over his jagged heart.

 

He finds himself going to check on the library extension just to get an excuse to call in. Drops by the bakery for a coffee - black no sugar and a fruit tea for Evie. The familiar barista boys greet him behind the counter. Joe and Sam. They greet him like a buddy and Kylo finds solace in that.

 

Then he’s off, striding across the square. Getting only briefly commandeered by three of Flo’s randy book club ladies who cajoled into helping them cross the “busy” street. He couldn’t say no. It would be rude. Not to mention one of them had a walker, and the other had a frame. He helps guide them across the dead quiet street like a good hearted man. Smiling to think he’s being ganged up on by grannies who wanted to cop a feel of his muscles up close. Telling him to to tell Evie to get in extra copies of that new fifty shades book for their club.

 

He _shudders_ at that thought.

 

The old cougars had pounced. _Especially_ as he looked darkly devastating today in his black Westwood suit, tie and shirt. Red soled dress shoes on his feet for that glimmer of colour. A black and red Gucci watch on his wrist. Silver struck through with a racing stripe of blood down the watch face and all along the strap.

 

They wave him goodbye and head on to the market. Cooing inane love and well-meaning compliments at him.

 

He parts and comes to the familiar shop front. Seeing the sign makers had hung the big sign above the windows. He smiles in pride seeing it there. Walking on through the door. Shop bell she’d already bought tinkling, announcing his arrival. He steps in to the dusty store, which reeks of paint, rubble and old beeswax. He can see a new addition today - boxes upon boxes strewn everywhere. Stacked at waist height - for her. To him they were knee height. He was guessing it was her stock, having arrived in part at least. She had a big shipment of rare books. Some antique, with hand tipped illustrations. The especially old copies would live on a big ornate used-to-be-crockery-dresser she’s converted into a bookshop from a thrift store. She wanted this place to still feel, in part, like an antique store crammed full of treasures. She didn’t want it feeling like a loveless chain book store.

 

She’s on a rickety step ladder painting around a light fitting opposite the desk. She turns when she hears the door. He’s stuck on her rosebud smile. And the smudge of white paint smeared across her cheek. Today she’s in a big baggy jumper that almost drops to her knees. It’s dirty in here, every surface dusty and it’s cold too. The heating isn’t being installed until next week.

 

She hops down from the stool and goes across to greet him. Carefully keeping paint-speckled hands from his billion dollar suit. He settles for swooping his face real low to kiss her. Pressing the warm paper cup of tea in her hands and cupping her neck with his blazing hot hands. She shivers a smile. First time she’s been warm all day.

 

“You stay in here much longer Kitten. You’ll fucking freeze to death.” He chides darkly. Sloppy deep kisses being pressed on her lips. Hungry. Plush pert mouth of his that she’d argue was just  _made_ to be kissed. Simply begged to be.

 

“Your hands feel nice...” She moans. Her big baggy grey sleeves slipping over her knuckles. She holds onto his arms and isn’t shy about wanting another kiss off him. Now she knows she won’t get paint on him.

 

He stands down his coffee and his hips push her into the counter. A cloud of dust mushrooms up behind her as he truly starts to kiss her like the bad influence he is. Tongues. And filthy wet sounds. And no shame whatsoever. She whimpers. Unable to help it. He’s all but counting her teeth with his tongue. Licking up into her mouth. So close their eyelashes press the others skin. Fluttering there. So close. So happy.

 

-and it’s fucking hot as _hell_.

 

“My hands feel nice cause I’m not the same temperature as a corpse.” He growls. Warning. He didn’t like her being here alone. That was truth enough. And knowing she’s turning into a human popsicle is worse. He _won’t_ have it. He’s gotta take care of her somehow.

 

“One more hour? I can’t do anything with the stock cause the shelves don’t come til tomorrow.” She tries to bargain.

 

He narrows his eyes. She smiles up at him. Real sweet. He rumbles grumpily again. Like distant thunder in his big gravelly throat.

 

“You’re a goddamn liability. Kitten.” He states. Puffing a breath against her lips. Speaking into the kiss before pulling back.

 

“Alright, _one_ hour. Cause I’m _nice_.” He lies. She beams. They both know he isn’t nice  but the difference was, he was always awfully good to her. That’s something to rely on. 

 

“Then you better get that cute ass outta here. Over to mine. Let’s do takeout. I want you all to myself all night.” He smirks. She didn’t need telling what _that_ meant.

 

He had nights like this; nights where he couldn’t get home, or _in_ her cunt, fast enough. She’d walked in last week to him sat, fully suited at his dining table. She was smiling at him. Asked kindly what’s for dinner. His response was “ _You, Kitten.”_ At which point he proceeded to shove her across the table. Spread her legs. Rips her panties and ate her out until he’s certain she stained the wooden surface.

 

Fingers slipping down the back of her jeans. Grabbing her pert ass. Even that too was freezing. He rolls the cold flesh in his fingers til it warms up. Grappling into her soft adorable ass. Cock growing full and hanging heavy between his legs. He only took an hour out for lunch and to bring her coffee. And now he’s gonna drive back to office with an annoying hard on, swollen and red, straining up under his desk for all the rest of the day.

 

“Deal.” She grins sweetly.

 

He grumbles at her again. Spanks her ass as he pulls his hand out her jeans. He kisses her. Smooches her softly right on the mouth.

 

“I gotta get going. One hour. I’ll be home early to check up on you.” He reiterates gently. Teasing yet _not_ teasing.

 

“Drink your tea Kitten...” He smirks. Picking up his coffee, checking his watch and heading for the door. His gait made a little different by his half hard cock wagging impatient between his legs. They’d come to address that later, she’s sure. He fills and blocks out the partially sunny doorway as he goes. And when he’s out, it’s all empty and light again she watches him walk away and something fuzzy-proud in her heart pipes up gladly. _There goes your man._

 

She does stay true to her word. She locks up early. Nothing else to do and she was starting to loose feeling in her numb toes and fingers. She gets into her car and heads straight out to Kylo’s place. Driving along a sunny road. Heater cranked high until she can feel her limbs again.

 

She doesn’t waste any time. Walking into that big sunny light filled glass home. She zips straight to the shower and lets the three powerful heads rain steaming hot water on her. Feeling sense return to her chilled extremities. She lathered all up, sudsy and foamy with Kylo’s spicy designer French soap. Liking how it makes her smell like his hot inky skin. Associates it with the way his cologne and musky smell of his skin hugs her. Even from afar.

 

She scoots her ass to the bedroom when she’s done. Drying her hair. Slipping into the clothes she kept here. A pair of tight cropped black thick leggings and an oversized linen shirt. Soft pink. She cuffs the big sleeves. Hoping it didn’t make her look too much like a fluffy soft marshmallow.

 

She pads downstairs in bare feet. Stone floors warm from the heating under them. She’s feeling squeaky clean and finally warm again. Wrapping her silky washed dry hair up into the clip she’s gotten bitten in her mouth as both hands were occupied. She goes for the wine fridge then. It was five o’clock somewhere. Here, it’s only four, but she’s got in mind to snuggle up and relax with a film or a book. Wait on Kylo’s big sofa for him to come home to her.

 

Most likely, she’ll have a sip of wine and nod off on that couch. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing she supposed. She’s had busy weeks of getting in the shop for 6am. And not getting home til way past dark.

 

She selects a bottle of white Riesling from the fridge cooler. She unscrews the cork and generously glugs a huge amount in Kylo’s sharp triangle domed glasses.

 

She hears the front door sweep as it’s pushed open. Hears its muted arc scuffing the door mat. She doesn’t turn to face him. She calls through instead.

 

“You’re earlier than I thought.... shall we get that takeout now? I can order if you like?.... Whatever you fancy.” She smiles. Sipping her wine after. Trying to bend the cork back into the slim neck to stopper it.

 

She’s replacing the bottle in the fridge. His footsteps were slowly coming closer and closer. Soft sure treads. He’s in one of his quiet moods tonight. That or he’s just going to do the usual. Slink up behind her and just kiss and _kiss_ and suck and nibble on her neck like he sometimes does. Making her tingle weak all over. 

 

“How was your day?” She asks as she takes another sip.

 

Two big hands snake around her hips. Slithering across her skin. Caressing her. Hot fingers teasing her through her shirt.

 

She stiffens. Because that _wasn’t_ Kylo’s cologne. That was-

 

“ _Ohh_ , my days _much_ better now.” Ben grins in a purr into her ear. As he cupped her hips. 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout at me inbox, ok


	39. Selfishness & Sharp Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the shoe is going on the other foot tonight... 
> 
> tw; knifeplay and lots of it.

 

 

Evie can’t seem to make her body respond to her brain. All she knows is that this feels _wrong_.

 

All sorts of wrong. Very wrong. _Wrong wrong wrong-_

 

Her blood is bubbling with tension. And her stomach seems to be sealing itself over in squirming fizzy nerves. Dread. That’s what she feels. Horrible cool, sickly grey dread gnawing at her insides. Like a a rogue little animal, burying itself into her guts as if to escape winter.

 

Ben’s behind her. _Here_. In Kylo’s kitchen. His palms had abandoned her hips and now lay flat on the countertop in front of them. Spreading out. Caging her in. His hips flush with her. Jamming into her body insistently.

 

She tries not to let her breath skip with the way his breath is fogging her shoulder and neck where she’s put her hair up. Now she’s wishing she’d have been better off to have left it down. It was always safer to have more barriers and shields in place where Ben was concerned - no matter what they are.

 

She tries so hard not to let her breath hitch - shamefully - she _fails_. Her rascally set of lungs shiver and quake with weakness. She finds herself cursing the damn things.

 

She can feel his eyes dripping into her like two twin drops of acid. She can hear his smile when he speaks up.

 

“You smell fucking good...” He rasps at her. Dragging in the scent of her with a deep sniff. Liking the Dolce perfume that beats warm off her hot skin. Musky. Balmy gold. Jasmine, amber vanilla, and lily of the valley. A heady mix he wants to get drunk on. She’s a deliciously cute morsel. He always forgets how much.

 

“Still playing the loyal role of being my brother’s demure little Cock-warmer?” He drawls.

 

She sighs. The sound rattled her chest and she gulps.

 

“What are you doing here, Ben?” She asks with steel in her voice. She wouldn’t be shaken. Not even by the way his hands slipped upwards. Stroking along her waist, up over her ribs. His hips so close to her ass she can feel the outline of his erection trapped half-hard against her.

 

She wasn’t exactly brave. But she won’t take this lying down. _Not again. Not after last time._

She bats his hands away and twists quickly, spinning around in his arms and meeting his flirting head on. He’s smug as he licks his lips. One brow quirking.

 

“ _Oh_ , believe me I hadn’t forgotten how pretty the front of you is compared to the back...” He teases. Devouring her with his eyes. The sunlight glimmers off his sharp white teeth. Dances in a blaze off his walnut-hickory eyes.

 

She takes in this walking, six foot of hulk of devastation. In a bright electric blue shirt. Black suit trousers, and glimmering pointed black dress shoes. That scar from that night peeps out his collar. Healed over now she’s pleased to see. The wound settles into his skin, mottled silvery pink. Sheening where the skins knitted back together. She can feel how silky and crisp his designer clothes are when they’re right there, all pressed right against her. Cotton shirt. Juniper cologne. Pantie dropping smile.

 

“ _Why_ , are you here?” She asks. Harsher this time. Raising her eyes to him. She was crowded so far back, trapped against the counter, that she’d be crawling back on top of it if she’s not careful. What a sight that would be.

 

He merely grins and reaches behind her. Eyes not leaving her as he picks up her wine glass and chucks back a great sip of it. Eyes not leaving her all the while he does. She’s fierce tonight, he thinks. Not shrinking away. Not shying down. Maybe this what’s come of fucking his brother? Given her some sense of courage. Given the sweet little librarian a backbone.

 

“Hmm.” He thinks when he thunks the empty glass back to counter. “Need something a little stronger to hit the spot...” He smirks. Gnashing his teeth together as he snaps, enunciating the ‘t’ with a clack of snapping teeth. Backing off and heading for Kylo’s whiskey cupboard.

 

Evie watches him go. Sees how his shirt tightens across his back and broad shoulders as he reaches up and grabs a bottle. The expensive Japanese whiskey. He pours a very generous dram of it, and doesn’t sip slowly. Doesn’t even appear to be savouring it.

 

“Holy shit.” He remarks annoyed as he runs a hand along the top of the cupboard Places she could never reach. “He threw out all my weed. _Shit_. He’s like a fucking detective.” He curses. Reaching for the bottle. Slamming back a whiskey. And pouring another.

 

Evie moves quietly as a mouse so she doesn’t hear it. She slips for the nearest draw and retrieved a small little cutting knife. Clasping it under her flat palm. She doesn’t trust Ben. Not when she’s unarmed, anyhow.

 

“He threw everything out.” She says stiffly. “Including ten thousands pairs of lacy g-strings too, apparently.” She adds.

 

He chuckles. Shuts the cupboard and turns. Stalking back over.

 

“Pity.” He growls.

 

“How?” She frowns carefully.

 

“You’d have looked so hot with a pair stuffed in that pretty mouth while you ride my dick, just like old times.” He purrs.

 

“I thought about bringing you back here you know....After our little date. I would’ve eaten your pussy out in the car. Fingered you. Fucked you in the hallway. On the dining table. Got you to suck my dick on the stairs. Tied you to _his_ big bed up there and fucked you raw right through til dawn.” He flirts. “Maybe I should’ve...” he pondered.

 

“Maybe then you’d now be fucking _me_ and not him.” He muses unkindly.

 

“After that night I wanted to do all that, still. Only I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to make you scream and not only in the _good_ way. Wanted to gag you. Wanted to tie you up and watch you writhe. Watch the tears drip. I wanted to do several nasty things, and I don’t mean just _explicit_ things.” He says lowly.

 

Swirling his glass as he eyes her up again. Her brain stumbles to the similarity of a shark sensing a drop of blood in the ocean. That seemed to fit nicely. She’s trying so hard to remain stoic and brave. The knife to hand makes her feel a little braver.

 

“I think you should leave. Kylo will be home soon.” _With any luck,_ she hopes.

 

“I’m not scared of my brother. Sweetie. I’d have thought I’d get that pretty pussy of yours gushing wet for me, just by standing here... after all, now I have a scar. Isn’t that what gets you going?” He snarls nastily.

 

“I’m not in love with Kylo because he’s scarred _or_ violent.” She let’s out.

 

Ben moves so quick it’s a wonder her eyes can even keep up. He throws back whiskey and the glass rattled to a stop on the counter beside her. He crowds her again to the cabinet. The granite pressing hard into the back of her hips. His hand skims up her ribs, over the swell of her breast, and comes to rest, clutching one big hand around her throat.

 

She gasps. Chest heaving. Mouth gaped. He looks down like he wants to kiss her. Eyes hot. And so so very _dark_. He almost tilts her neck back as he grips it. His breath is spicy fumes of whiskey. Panting against her lips. That lush mouth looking plump and smug as always.

 

“Lie to me again.” He snarls. Demanding.

 

“Tell me how he never does this to you...” He smarts. Smirking wider. His eyes just pure black pits of venom.

 

“Tell me he never just grabs you. Rips you out those prim little dresses, and fucks you like the little submissive innocent slut you just love to be treated as.” He remarks lowly.

 

“He never grabs your neck and fingers your pussy like your his own little toy?” He seeks. Eyes narrowing. Almost laughing at her. “I find that hard to believe if he hasn’t. Cause you know that’s _exactly_ what you are to him.” He explains.

 

Evie just swallows. Taking this all in. Staring up at him. Drinking in the poison from those handsome lips and those deep ember eyes. His hand squeezes tighter and she can’t _help_ it- he’s right. Kylo does do this to her. When they’re fucking - when they’re in bed. She just shivers because it’s not familiar but it somehow is.

 

“Yeah, sure...” Ben say’s, laughing, as he withdraws his hand. “Violence _doesn’t_ turn you on.” He snarls in irony. His lips near her neck like he’s considering giving her a hickey.

 

He withdraws his hand. She raises hers. Catching him unawares. One paw traps her hip. And she’s already got the knife blade sticking out her trembling fingers. Nudging the blade of it against his sternum. It pressed near his shirt buttons.

 

He looks down. Dark eyes on fire. He bites his lip and lets his hands press flat to the counters once more. His smile tips that little bit wider. He eyes her hand on him.

 

“Well, well...” He clucks, flirting.Eyes boring in hers.

 

“Now I know why he keeps you.” He adds.

 

“My brother appears to be rubbing off on you, _Kitten_.” He smirks. He curls his tongue around the letters like it was stroking at them. She could attest personally to what that wicked tongue can do - how hurtful it can be. Like sugar and salt.

 

“You gonna cut me?” He tempts. “You gonna drag that across my skin and watch the blood seep out like _he_ did?” He leans his head down. Very close to her cheek. Breath puffing dry hot against her neck. He takes her hand and shifts it higher. Let’s her dig it into the soft of his corded neck.

 

“Just think. One slash. _One_. And you could rid my brother of the only annoying relative he’s got left.” He smirks smugly.

 

“I would never to that to Kylo. I’m not going to cut you either. But if you think I’m not standing up for myself this time. You’d be _very_ wrong.” She tells him. Bravery centre stage in her steel blue eyes.

 

“You sparing me sweetie? How cute...”

 

His eyes are drawn back. But busy. His smile is still positively Machiavellian in its cunning.

 

Her hand where it is - holding up a knife to him is promptly getting him more and more horny. Winding up his submissive kink like crazy. He was turned on merely from seeing her - now he’s _fucking_ ravenous.

 

She’s not afraid. She’s showing him how plainly she isn’t afraid of him any longer.

 

“You know just what to do to get me off, don’t you baby?” He growls. Sinking his body further into hers. Panting slightly. All that muscle and bulk melting into her sweet little body. He was all but grinding his cock into her belly.

 

“ _God_ I’d give anything to bend you over this fucking counter right now.” He whispers. Licking his lips. “Split you on my dick.” He growls. And the knife she’s holding to him is all entirely to blame for that _lust_.

 

He’s starting to not care about what would happen if Kylo would come back from work to find her being bent over this counter with his twins dick stuffed up in her pussy.

 

“Please Ben. I think you should go now. If you’ve nothing else to say.” She tells him. Breath catching short in her throat.

 

“I’m not quite finished...” He frowns lightly. “I’m having a little, get together, next week.” One hand slips for his back pocket.

 

“Hired the top three floors of The Regis. Booked out all the suites for my party. Pool terrace. Champagne, whiskey. _Etcetera_. Lots of...” His smile is disarmingly wide “ _fun_.”

 

She had a feeling that ‘ _fun_ ’ and ‘ _Etcetera_ ’ stood for bimbo vain models, public cheap sex, and drugs of all kinds, on tap.

 

“Maybe Kylo could bring you along.... He always used to, _really_ , enjoy going to my parties. There’s a couple of girls going this year that I know are bound to miss him.” He leers.

 

Evie damn well pays attention to that. She says nothing. She swears she can almost hear herself blinking. He doesn’t stop there...

 

“I think they were the ones we _shared_ a few years back.” He beams.

 

“He’s very popular with the girls that go there. Of course, he drinks a skinful of whiskey and they all seem to think he’s a bit broody. But they don’t seem to bother complaining much when they’re bouncing up and down on his dick. As I’m sure you can understand...”

 

Her eyes widen. She tries not to let it but her mouth gapes a little. She knew about his exes. But she never dreamt he was one to voluntarily move among Ben’s crowd of vapid, sex addicted models and drug addicts.

 

“ _Oh_ , don’t worry about jealousy sweetie. I admit you handled us both pretty fucking well. I’d like that again this year. For my birthday. Consider it my present... “ He grins. Taking out a piece of embossed card, a party invite, pressing it down on the granite countertop.

 

She flits her eyes across. To see indeed that the thick square of card was a birthday invitation. Ben’s birthday party. Though she thinks ‘ _birthday orgy’_ might be a more appropriate description.

 

_And kylo used to go to these?_ That hits into to her heart like a battering ram. That, and the fact if it was Ben’s birthday next week then that must mean by extension-

 

“You think Kylo would come? Let alone take me anywhere within a million miles of your....” She hesitates. “ _Party?”_ She asks him dryly.

 

She could stand up for herself. Certainly. But she was raised never to be cruel. She wasn’t cruel. She couldn’t ever be capable of such a thing. It simply wasn’t in her nature. She could’ve been nasty to him. As he’d been towards her- but the knife is too much brutality on her part as it is.

 

“Think about it.” He raps his fingers on the top. Rattling atop the invite.

 

“I’d love to _have_ you...” He smirks. Eyes flicking down her body. Checking her out. “There.” He adds quickly. She swallows at his dirty double meaning.

 

“Don’t hold your breath.” She says stiffly in warning.

 

He winks at her.

 

“Don’t cut kylo on that sharp tongue, baby.” He holds her hand as he steps back. “ _Oh_ , no wait...” He pauses.

 

“He probably likes that kinky shit? Right?” He leers.

 

Lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the back of her knuckles. His eyes slicing her up. Blistering into her skin.

 

She lets her arm sink to her side. Assured that he won’t do her bodily harm. He gives her a flirty smile. Sticks his hands in his pockets and swaggers off towards the front door. “Ciao.” Called back in his wake.

 

Evie lets herself sag back into the counters sturdiness. The knife clatters to the floor where she drops it. Her fingers just uncurl. Go numb. She pants. She listens to the front door sweep shut - she runs through to make sure he has properly gone and it is properly locked. She hears the Porsche’s roar and crackle snap of it as it shifts on the gravel.

 

She staggers to the kitchen. Hand over her mouth. Unable to believe what it is she’s just done. Her head is swimming and her blood is pumping. She’s in a daze.

 

She feels... _proud? Brave?_ Tripped on the power that exchange just gave her. It was either incredibly brave or undeniably stupid.

 

She does something before she realises she’s even doing it. She zips right to Kylo’s liquor cabinet. Wrenches it open and takes out the closest bottle to hand - not caring what. She pours a glass. And downs it. And another. And then _another.._.

 

By the time Kylo gets in, she half wonders if she’ll be flat on her face. Dead drunk. On this kitchen floor. It seems likely the way she’s pounding it back.

 

She hates whiskey. Hates its fiery sting. It’s more like lighter fluid than a pleasing fine tasting drink to her. Nonetheless, she slugs it down her throat like it’s water. Or manna. She just knows - that tonight - wine won’t be enough. It won’t help her. Not one bit.

 

She stands by the kitchen window and drinks. Wraps one arm around her middle. The other tipping more whiskey into her mouth. Flooding her tongue with the flavour. The gardens soon swaying and she knows it’s not just attributed to the windy night she’s watching grow dark and cold out there. Ripples fluttering on the wake of the aqua blue pool. The long thin rectangle of it hemmed with anthracite marble blue and brown tile around its edge. She watches the spiked tropical plants and succulents in their raised slate square planters get fussed by the wind. She watches all the plants she’s raised and put in the back bed tossed on the nights bare, wild elements.

 

She watches over his garden like a silent statue. Across the white smooth stone loungers that must warm beautifully in the sun. The big square cloth white umbrella that shades the big patio table and the pristine grey chairs. It all looks so elegant. She can picture a time in summer when Kylo must’ve hosted countless business parties out there.

 

Candles in lanterns. And left floating on the pools surface. She can see monochrome silent waiters passing trays of champagne and tiny hors’d oeuvres and black tie guests. Pouring out the flawless glass walled house and onto the sunny terrace. She can see him making deals out here. Being all successfully ruthless and handsome out there, suave and charming and drop dead gorgeous. His massively broad fame wrapped up deliciously in one of his clean black Tom Ford suits. Making him look like every woman’s darkest, decadent dream.

 

Kylo in one of those dark suits. Expensive wrist watch on. Laboutin dress shoes on his feet.

 

To describe him?.... it was like ingesting a whole box of deeply dark bitter cocoa truffles. _Utterly too much_. But as decadent as all hell itself. And never mind the guilt. It was _so_ worth it. She thinks on him as she drinks. But stops taking in liquor when she realises how much it’s weakening her knees.

 

-then again that could just be the thoughts of Kylo.

 

Pure shots of deadly vodka. Gunpowder. A stick of Dynamite. That’s what Kylo is. Dark. Dangerous. A completely undiluted dark hulking and tall buckshot of man.

 

The strength of him is enormous. Ridiculous really. Laughable with its potency. Jagged. Scarred. Ink tattoos dripping violent and harsh off his loveless skin. He’s so roughly and crudely beautiful. And defined. He’s made out of harsh angles and scars. Just like this great house. He’s all linear and harsh.

 

Yet his face is full of soft things. Great big soft lips, a gentle curve of a nose, deeply sinking pits for eyes and his hair is like silk. Undeniable how beautiful he is. How different he is to any man she’s ever loved before. She grew and fell more and more in love and awe of his beauty each day of being near it. As he revealed more of his softer side to her.

 

She’d still been hopelessly attracted and Infatuated with him even when he was all glares and hateful spitting words barked at her in that prison interview room. Maybe that was even recklessly stupid of her - she couldn’t put it aside. He had her hooked from day one. Then again. Everyone should do reckless things in their lives.

 

Shouldn’t they? And what a man her reckless lover is turning out to be. One amongst absolutely millions. _There’s no other like Kylo Ren. Not for her. Never for her._

 

She can completely blame her drunk head for being so silly with these comparisons. She makes herself smile with the ridiculousness of it. Her slightly tipsy-drunk heart was smitten and she can’t help it being in close cahoots with her equally as foolish brain.

 

She’s still reeling from the exchange, high on the power trip that she stood up to Ben, when she hears the Aston purrs it’s sleek black way up the drive. She turns and watches the white icy headlights carve up the windows along the front of the house. Cutting a swathe through the cold blue of the dimming day.

 

She wets her lips. Giddy to hear how his soft treads come up the marble steps. And then the sweep of the front door as it arcs across the doormat. He calls out as soon as the door is opened. “Kitten.” He greets. Cause of course he does. _Always does. Always_ has his kitten on his mind.

 

She stays where she in. Barefoot. Lingering in the kitchen by the window. Her back to it now as he strides that lumbering but precise gait into the room. Jacket over his arm, laying his armful of work - plans and his computer - down on the dining table. A cunning black devil today. So she sees. Black shirt. Darkest slate grey trousers. Black Italian brogues dripping trim and finery on his feet. To top it off, his wrist is bedecked nicely with a Tag Huer wristwatch. The Aquaracer one.

 

He sets his stuff down on the table. And looks up to catch her eye across the room. Those black eyes glitter like far off stars. He sees all. The whiskey bottle. The square of card invite. The lone knife out on the counter.

 

His eyes blaze to hers for an answer and he stalks over. His back a little straighter. Shoulders a little more tensed. He steps to the counter where the invite was. Reads it with a flicker of his eyes. And sighs angrily through his nose. It pounds through his big chest. His eyes find hers and the once starry depth are eaten up  full of intense dark malice.

 

“He was here?” He seeks. Crumpling the invite in one brute hand and stomping across to confine it to the trash where it belonged.

 

“He was.” She says. “Left about an hour ago.” She explains.

 

He walks back and crowds right up to her. A big hand cups the back of her neck. He sighs deeply. His chest a swathe of black in her vision. She tilts her head up to him. She hears him take deep dragging breaths.

 

“Might want to think about changing the locks...” She smiles. Leaning on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Getting greeted by the fading scent of shaving balm and cologne on him.

 

When she pulls back, he weighs her. Calculating. He can smell that single malt on her breath. She detested spirits. Whiskey especially. She didn’t even like Irish coffee. It makes him frown.

 

“He touch you?” He seeks impatiently. Face stiff. Eyes stiff. Body tense. His rage is starting to bead off him, like sweat. It’s palpable in the air.

 

“Only a little.” She tells. “I kept him at bay.” She explains. His eyes narrow a fraction.

 

“How the hell did you manage that...” He seeks. She smiles. And the whiskey that she’d sunk have her the courage for her next trick.

 

“I’ll tell you...” She explains. “But I want to kiss you first.” She blurts out evenly. His eyes glimmer with something. But nonetheless he swoops down, stopping. She crushes their lips together. Taking control. Taking her fingers through his hair. Feeling so brave - she runs her tongue across his lower lip. He makes a soft deep noise of surprise at the back of his throat. Curling his hands into the folds of her shirt. Keeping her close.

 

When they pull away - he doesn’t know what’s getting him more turned on. The whiskey on her tongue. Or the way she’s being so... _non kitten_ like. She’s being bold. He likes that.

 

“Show me.” He grunts. “Show me what you did to him, Kitten.” He demands. Air sparking up with sex.

 

Her hand gropes for the countertop beside them. She picks up the small chopping knife and weighs it in her hand. Before she’s bringing it over - and facing the blade upwards. Near his collarbone. She presses it softly to his skin. Sinking it. But not letting it cut.

 

She looks up to meet his eyes. They are a black void inferno. His fists are suddenly clenched in her shirt. His thighs tense. Packed tight. His chest is rising and falling quick and she just heard his breathing hitch.

 

“This is what I did to him. Kylo.” She says.

 

Someone saying his name like this made it sound _sacred_ to him. No one else on Earth gets to hold anything to him like this - and survive. Only _she_ can do this to him. Turn him on like this. No one else.

 

_There’s no one else he trusts._

He swallows. Wets his lips. “Oh yeah?” He asks. “How did he take that? Lying down I bet? Like the true bratty submissive he is.” He smirks.

 

One hand leaves her back. And brings her free one to his crotch. Letting her feel how rock-hard he was already. He twitches under the caress of her palm.

 

“Feel that...” He asks. She cups him and boldly strokes him. Up and down. A flick of her wrist. Letting his big cock fill out under her hand. He rumbles a groan that falls out his slack mouth like honey. They both moan at the feeling of her hand on his big hard cock. 

 

“Yes.” She answers. Stroking a little harder. She feels his hips jump. “He did seem to like it. But not _nearly_ as much as you.” She braves.

 

“Now what?” He demands quickly.

 

“Seeings as I’m holding the knife to you. I think that newly entitles me to do the talking and giving orders, here.” She tells him.

 

He chuckles. Smiles. His eyes dagger into hers. Relentlessly turned on.

 

“If you say so, Kitten. Now stop wasting our precious fucking time and cut my shirt off.” He dares.

 

She chews her bottom lip a little. Before moving her hand. She watches his chest. He doesn’t take her eyes _off_ her. He can’t.

 

“Go on. Cut it.” He growls. He grabs her hand and puts the tip of the knife to his top button.

 

“This was terribly expensive? Wasn’t it?” She asks.

 

“ _Ridiculously_ expensive.” He answers. Dark eyes glittering with lust.

 

She doesn’t waste anymore time. She brings the knife down and severs off all the buttons. It shrieks through the fabric like a hot knife through butter. The fabric parts for her and that musky skin of his is now on view. She drinks it in.

 

“Seems a shame to cut it more. Ruin something so fine. Shrug it off.” She orders. He complies. Silently. He’s holding her eyes as he bares his torso. Watch glimmering on the light as he moves his hand. The scrap of fabric pools at his ankles. Cast to the floor. Forgotten.

 

She steps closer up to him. Bodies touching. She feels his hot skin and traces around the line of a tattoo with it gently. She follows the curves and lines of that velvety textured panther near his ribs. One of her favourites. Reminds her of his own wild nature. Feral. Untamed. Dark.

 

He _melts_.

 

Shivers, and pants that she’s doing this. Being rough with him. Ordering him around the way she wants. His cheeks are getting a little flushed. As was his milky skinned neck. She palms his cock under her hand in a way that would usually have her dying of shame it was so bold. So _wanton_.

 

“ _Fuck_. Kitten. That’s it.” He pants. She watches his throat bob as he swallows.

 

“I think we should go upstairs. Don’t you?” She asks. Dragging the tip of the knife across his nipple ring. He jerks at the sensation. Hips seeking relief and friction from her hand.

 

His eyes were telling her how hard he wants to fuck her. But he wasn’t holding the reigns here.

 

“I want you to take my clothes off for me when we get upstairs.” She tells him. Walking him backwards towards the staircase. Pressing a hand and a knife to his chest. No partner has ever turned him on like this. He never gave them any ammunition against him.

 

Probably why it’s _so hot_ now that Evie’s got him wrapped around her finger.

 

His dark grin scares her. “Yes ma’am. But don’t _dare_ think I’ll be nice about it.” He tells.

 

Yanking her wrist and dragging her up the stairs. Round the landing and through to his moon-drenched bedroom. The bed is a glowing white, crisply sheeted slab on podium. It looked like a flawless iced square cake. Sheets so smooth cotton and neat. Pillows plumped. She wants to climb on that bed and muss it all up, with him.

 

For the first time in her life she wants to be dirty for him. Dripping sweat. Leaking onto it with her own wetness, or with his spend trickling out of her. She wants those pristine sheets as wrecked and rumpled as the people laying in them. Naked. Sweaty and entirely _too_ fucked out in bliss.

 

He keeps to his promise. He shoves his clothes off. Shirt. Watch. Shoes. It all goes.

 

Then he yanks hers off. Rips them away. She briefly laments the death of her shirt and she thinks she hears the leggings stitching rip. They ended up so she was stood naked at the end of the bed, facing him as he stood with his back to the window. She tells him to kiss her as he shredded her clothes. And he does. He sucks her neck like it’s his personal life or death duty. Peeling her clothes away to grab at her pretty pretty, _so pretty,_ skin.

 

“Now what do we do kitten? Now we’re all naked?” He asks. Not touching her. But stood close enough so his hard, rosy cock is pressed up to her. Pearly drops leaking down his swollen red-soft head. Weeping. Crying, aching to be in her.

 

She still had the knife in her hand. It’s down by her thigh as he sucks her neck and fondles at her tits desperately with his big hands. She let him. Scratching one free hand through his soft hair. The way his cock sways into her is getting her more than slick and ready.

 

“I want you...” She groans as he bites her neck. She presses the knife up to his chest again to resume garnering his attention.

 

“Kylo. I want you to... lick me, out.” She says passionately. He draws back after sucking her neck. She pulls away.

 

He smiles at her. Hands flattening to her belly and pushing her back. “ _Fuck_ , Yeah.” He answers.

 

She collapses backwards onto the mattress and lets him watch as she slowly parts her legs. He kneels obediently on the floor and slots between them. Crawling up her like a starved man. Eyeing how she’s spreading one thigh, and then the other. Unfolding for him slowly like one of those flowers that unfolded for the sun.

 

He eyes her cunt hungrily. Especially when she reaches in and pushes her wetness around her slick self. Cheeks burning in shame of touching herself like this so plainly in front of him. Judging by the way his eyes land on her. And the way he wets his lips like he’s hungry or thirsty - or dying of both, makes her squirm around her own fingers.

 

He can smell her from here. _Taste_ her too. He swallows and eyes her up as he kisses along her thighs.

 

“Look at you touching yourself all for me. Didn’t think you had in it you Kitten.” He breaks off dirty talk to suck on the fingers that she’s just pushed in her. Hungry tongue lapping up every drop. He moans around her hand. A string of saliva joining them when he pulls away.

 

“Use your mouth on me now.” She orders. Wetness leaking obscenely from her. He leans down and nuzzles his nose and soft lips into her. Smearing her pussy all over his mouth. Opening his lips and letting his tongue uncurl, and swipe at her weeping cunt. Savouring slowly.

 

He shuts his eyes and really gets into it. He always did with her.

 

He was an absolute _god_ at pussy eating.

 

He takes his time doing it right - though he wasn’t fucking patient with anything else in his life. Some of his exes used to praise him for it. He only did it to the ones he could stand - the ones he didn’t despise. Who didn’t make his teeth grit and skin crawl.

 

It seemed too intimate to bother doing to girls he hated. He just fucked them instead. Turned them around, and screwed them real good from behind. Didn’t want anything else or more than that. They usually complained. He didn’t give a shit.

 

He held all the cards over them. He could do what he wanted. But there has never been a pussy _quite like_ Kittens before... he loses himself in this cunt of his.

 

It seems _made_ to slot against his mouth. Designed for him. His tongue knows exactly what to do as he takes his sweet time drawing shapes over her labia. Curling into her cunt when he wants to taste her even more.

 

“Grind on my face. _Please_. Kitten. I wanna fucking feel it.” He tells her heatedly. Not taking his mouth off her. Not even to speak. “Fuck me. I love eating this pussy.” He growls, it vibrates into her.

 

She grabs his hair, slams, grinds and gyrates her hips up for him. He groans feral when she pushes the knife once more to his neck. He grips her tight enough to bruise. She’s pressing up to his mouth as he grabs her thighs and slurps down her clit. Swallows her lips and her slick like its honey. She’s almost humping his face. Gripping his hair tight. He’s getting off on the pain of it. And the knife.

 

He closes his eyes again. Humming and sucking and fucking her on his tongue. She’s dripping down his chin. His cheeks. Down his neck. To the mattress. Drool and her sliding down his chin. The taste of her is everywhere. Hot. Sweet. Wet. Always so wet. Spilling her mess over his mouth and he’s eating everything and all of it _all_ the fuck up. _  
_

 

“Kylo. God. Kylo-s- _Oh_. It’s so good. So _so_ good.” She’s whining. Petting his hair, watching as those silver black eyes, dark lifeless like a sharks, rove up to find hers between the spread V of her pink trembling soft thighs. He makes out with her pussy.

 

Both her hands are yanking into his body. One holding a knife. The other one very nearly pulling hair out at the roots. Little does she know, but pulling at his follicles makes his swollen cock red. Make it twitch. Didn’t ever think he had a hair-pulling kink. But them she scrapes her nails over his scalp and tugs- and fuck- if he isn’t in _heaven_.

 

He rubs his broad tongue flat over her pussy. All the way over her. Filthy wet sucking sounds follow as he licks her down. Lapping up her cunt like it can save him from dying.

 

He spits. Drools into her pushes his spit around with his tongue and eats it out of her all over again. Smirking when she moans. Still drawing shapes across her - his name. His ownership. She can almost feel it, plain as day; he spells it out as _M-I-N-E. Over and over_ until she writhes, screams and begs for more. He looks right in her eyes as he spells out ‘ _mine_ ’ on her clit.

 

She does writhe. And scream. She does all of it - except beg. He’s delirious with how she isn’t pleading cause he’s giving her every damn thing she needs.

 

His tongue is lapping inside her. He’s sucking on her pussy like it’s candy. That’s everything she could ever need.

 

“Gonna eat this cunt so well, you won’t see straight when you cum.” He promises. Slipping fingertips to rub over her labia, dipping into her so slightly. Before he takes the thick things out and shoves then in his mouth and sucks her slick away. Feeding himself her wetness as if he wasn’t currently burying himself face first in her.

 

In response to his dirty talk, her hips hump and grind his mouth as he licks her up. Strokes her slit with his tongue. Runs his nose and mouth along the slick-juicy-spit wet of the lovely soft crease where thigh meets pussy. Nibbles the inside of her thighs to keep her on edge. Then is back to suckle her clit into his mouth. Varying the pressure of it. Never wanting to be too much til she’s bursting with need.

 

He doesn’t use his fingers up her yet. Doesn’t want too. Likes drinking her in with just his mouth. Loves how he can do _just_ this and make his pussy cum. He’ll add two of his big thick fingers if she asks for more.

 

Plus, she hasn’t told him what to do yet. He’ll eat her out like the good obedient boy - that he _isn’t_ \- until she tells him otherwise. He’s not ruining the fun of her game of being in charge just yet. _  
_

He does start to use his hands a little. Instead of clawing his nails into her rounded thighs, he used both thumbs to hold her lips wide open. Exposing her pink soft slippery core. He watches it tremble as he rubs his mouth and nose up into her. Before his slick hot tongue shoves into her and fucks her, as deep as he’ll go. Loving how it squelches and slicks as he gets his face shoved there. How she runs down his chin, pours into his mouth as he strokes her trembling wet walls.

 

By god- she’s really tugging on his hair now. Hips going hell for leather in pace. He loves the grind. Listens to how wet she is for him. Oozing with it. Pussy drooling squelching slurping directly in his mouth.

 

She’s shifting about so much he has to withdraw his tongue, and refocus his efforts on her slit. Stroking up and down, and all over again with his tongue. Sucking. Lapping. Swirling patterns. He tries the shapes again. Spelling stuff out that she’ll never know about. It’s his little secret only.

 

His hands pin her quaking thighs down. He feels the tremors flutter through her body. She’s writhing sweaty. Sweet tits shining in the light as she arches her back and shoves her pussy and his face tight together with the straining hold she’s kept on his hair.

 

He growls into her. He does. Cause he loves all of this- the noises, the taste, the raw sweet smell of her cunt. Making her cum using his mouth and tasting how she gushes down his tongue. It bursts right out her. He wants her squirting for him like the good kitten she is. He wants to watch her pussy gush and soak the bed.

 

“Yes! Oh, ohh _Kylo-Yes oh. God._ Right there!” She whines.

 

He’d rather she used his name. And not gods. But there was little he could do about it. His mouth had enough to keep him busy with his favourite hobby. He loved everything about eating out his kitten. The highlight of it was certainly when she cums messy creamy and loud in his mouth and he swallows it all up like it’s his mission.

 

His tongue laps and his lips close around her stiff little wet clit and tug- soothing the motion with a flurry of his tongue. Makes out with her cunt, sloppy messy until she cums.

 

And she cum’s _hard_.

 

Real loud. Real sloppy. Drenched the bed below him, messy and wet, pussy drooling obscenely on his tongue as the hot sweet rush of her bursts up into his mouth. A hot flow pours that he laps up. Not stopping til he’s sucked her completely clean. Chin, nose, cheeks and black eyes all glimmering up at her in the night as he gives her teasing little kitten laps until she twitches and has to break away from his mouth - pussy still gushing for him making him know she’s cum too much. Still cumming.

 

He likes that. Using his mouth til she’s over sensitised. Twitching and throbbing. And he’s spattered in remnants of her cum. Wearing her like a reminder.

 

Her knees go slack, and he slides them off his shoulders with kisses smeared on her thigh. Smooching her own cum onto her inner thighs. Wondering at what point in time he had them clamped in place over his shoulders as he ate and she writhed. He doesn’t remember and he can’t pinpoint it. His mouth and her cunt was the focus and it’s hot to think he had to clamp her in place to make her orgasm.

 

He carefully drops her thighs to the bed. They rest there. Heavy and lifeless and still quivering because of him. Still sucking lovebites on her thighs. Hoping they’ll bruise tomorrow. All down her legs. A regiment of bruising kisses from his hungry teeth.

“You gonna tell me what we’re doing next, Kitten?” He seeks. Hands on the front of her hips as he nuzzles his nose into where the crook of her thigh meets  pussy.

 

Kisses closed mouthed right over her cunt. Right across the pink opening of her. Feeling her slick drool. Drawing in her scent and letting his hot breath cool her hot wet slit.

 

She summons the energy enough to sit up. Eyes dazed. Cheeks rosy pink. Flushed through from her climaxes. Lips all red and wet where she’s been biting them as she’s climaxed. Knuckles white where they gripped the now messy sheets as he ate her out. The one that clutches the knife is down limp by her tummy. He loves how every inch of her is wet. Sweaty.

 

He’s much the same. Dripping with it. Feels it slide down his back. But much more importantly- feels how his impatient hard on is simply drooling mess and precome all over the floor where he’s knelt. Glossy drips slipping off him in gloopy long strings. He thumbs at his red flushed head and shudders when he strokes himself. Body arched so his breath huffs into her pussy.

 

“Tell me.” He seeks hungrily. Lapping gentle kisses at her cunt til she answers him. Overstimulating her.

 

“Get on the bed.” She commands with a lazily smile. He slinks up her body. All feline and _starving_ for more.

 

Holding himself above her on hands and knees. Bracketing her to the bed. Thighs dominating hers. Cock slotting hot and wet between her thighs. Rubbing her. Hair hanging over his face like black vines. He’s dying to taste and tug her nipples with his teeth.

 

“Like this?” He nuzzles her neck. Mouth drooling with her cum still. He kisses her neck wetly. Pressing her taste to her skin. His lower face coated in it.

 

She brings her lazy dead arms up. One fondles that handsome hair. The other takes the knife and nudges the blades point into his sweaty neck, dragging down his shoulder. His back ripples. Shivers. Shoulder blades rolling, tattooed ribs shifting as he humps his cock into her thigh, moaning a turned on groan to her.

 

“ _Fuck_. So filthy, Kitten.” He smiles. Nipping her pulse point with his sharp teeth. Biting it. Feeling it hum under his tongue.

 

“On your back...” She commands suddenly. Giddy off his mouth sliding down her collarbone. He grins a love bite around her clavicle. Before rolling off her, seating himself flat on his back on the mattress. Propped up on elbows. Still watching her.

 

“You got the stamina to _do_ me?” He teases with a dark smug grin. She shows him just how much.

 

She sits up, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him. Letting her slick pussy trail and grind over his big erection. Slamming herself down on him but not letting him inside her just yet. He growls and grabs her hips. Nails stinging her. Grip to bruise. Gritting his teeth, eyes devouring her. Black pits that stroked her skin as she settles herself on top of him. Holding the knife to his throat again. Dragging it down, down down those sweaty pecs, over his big rising and falling ribs. Grinding herself on him. Making him impatient.

 

She was amazed he’s still taking orders. She can feel how hard he is. How eager he must be. How he must be restraining his temper from throwing her to the mattress and pounding her senseless.

 

“You’re being very patient.” She comments as she grinds her pelvis down on him.

 

“Apparently good things come to those who wait.” He grins. “I _hate_ being kept waiting...” He growls. She tests that by sliding the knife up - bravely and boldly caressing over his nipple. The oval flat disc perked hard with arousal. She tests him nearly cruelly when she loops the tip of the blade in his nipple ring, and then _tugs_ it.

 

If she thought he gripped her before. He almost snapped her in half now. He threw back his head. His hips bumped hers and his cock twitches, leaking more slick into her thighs. She can’t deny she’s more than ready to indulge him with some fucking now. She was starving for it too.

 

“Lie right back for me.” She says sweetly. Knife still near his nipples. His chin tips, hair spread on the bad. He’s panting and puffing like it’s no one’s business. The folds in his neck all rippled up where he’s watching her manoeuvre herself onto his dick.

 

She uses her free hand to slap the big meaty thick thing to her cunt. Shivering in pleasure as it stroked over her clit. His jaw grits so tight. Too tight. He wonders how his teeth aren’t dust yet.

 

They both groan ferally when the swollen wet head of him pushes past her lips. Clamped inside her giving hot walls. So tight. So hot. So wet she’s making his head spin and blur. She sinks her cunt down on him slowly. If she slams all of this inside her at once - she’s at serious risk of doing herself an injury.

 

“You’ve been so - _oh_ \- so good to me. Kylo.” She whimpers. Head thrown back. Messy hair half up. Half spilling from her up do. Straggling in pieces down her neck. Her nipples are hard like small coral pebbles. She’s drenched in sweat. Pale body shimmering silver. Just how he likes her. Adjusting her slick thighs as she still endeavoured to take him.

 

He might be delirious from pleasure - but he swore he could see the bulge of his cock pressing outwards from inside her body. He so badly wants to drag her thighs into his hands. Grind her onto him. Fuck her deep and fast.

 

He also wants to throw her off, and fuck her into this mattress like a pounding, rutting beast. He wants to feel his balls slap against her, he wants to spank her ass red as he fucks. Pull her hair. Bite her sweaty neck. Fuck her like an animal claiming their mate.

 

“You feel _so_ fucking good, baby. Your pussy feels so fucking right squeezing my dick.” He hisses out through his puffing breath.

 

She smiles - and then she slams herself down onto him the rest of the way. Sliding down quick. They both groan again and then she starts to grind her hips on him quickly. He was sliding in her _so_  deep;

 

_deep deep deep_

 

Prodding at spots that makes tears come to her eyes. Two betray her and slip down her cheeks. Kylo notices.

 

“Let me touch those pretty tits.” He pleads strongly as he watched the perfect things bounce as she bounced on him. The length and feel of him almost wrecks her. She steadies herself by one hand pressing to the bed beside his hip. Biting her lip as she grinds and moaning out a string of responses to his eager question. Surprised he didn’t just do it- take her.

 

“Yes-yesyesyes, you can touch me.” She moans. Body jerking and sparking in pleasure as she rides him. Moaning noises like a sirens call to his ears. It’s so hot to him. All this. Her taking charge. Being rough. Keeping him tamed. Watching that little body astride his as she rides him like a dime store pony.

 

One big paw cups her tit. And the way her stiff nipple brushes against his palm makes her shiver and gasp. Her other had still holding the knife near his sternum. He grins. Decides to make it a little more pleasurable for her, he writhes up with his hips to meet hers. Almost throwing her off- but the yelp that shatters out her mouth is the most beautiful, wrecked, pleasured sound he’s ever heard.

 

She adjusts herself on him. Grinding deeper to retaliate. Making him shout out now instead. He throws his head back when her cunt clenches around him on purpose. He nearly jumps out his skin. Hand leaving her breast to claw her thigh.

 

“ _Holy Shit!_ Kitten... _oh shit.”_ He shouts. Breathing all jagged. She really gets brave. She grinds and fucks him now. She’s in charge. Digging her nails onto his sweaty big pecs and feeling him tremble as she rides him. His jaw corded so tight she’s afraid he’ll break his teeth.

 

“ _Fuck_. Look at you. That swollen red pussy. You’re so _full_ of me...” He groans. Sweating and writhing and flushed. Sinful to look at. Too darkly beautiful for words. At least she likes to think so.

 

He’s getting off from the pain. She may not be holding the knife to him anymore. But she’s digging her nails almost breaking into his skin. Slamming her hips to his. Riding him. It’s so fucking _perfect_. Their hips roll to each other now to set an even pace. Finding a good rhythm.

 

“You gonna cum riding me like this babe? I can feel all those spots I hit that make you tremble. Or do I need to rub that pretty clit _huh?”_ He huffs with a dastardly grin. Too sinful for her own good.

 

Her answer is to put one of his hands over her thigh, to grip her flesh as she carries on. He watched how she grinds. Catching friction on the texture of his body. Clit grinding and rubbing on his short wiry pubic hair. He keeps himself well trimmed down there - it’s just decent manners. 

 

She’s grabbing onto him now like she’ll fall off this earth if she doesn’t. She digs her nails in deeper and he curses. She nearly does. He was hitting her g-spot.

 

“Ughhhhh. Yes! _There_ _,_ _there_ right there.” She screams, sighs and moans. Eyes shut in bliss. Pounding ecstasy and almost too much through her pussy. His curved cock and swollen head throbbing right over her g-spot. _Heavenly_.

 

“All you ever have to do is ask me. And this is all yours.” He explains in a growl. “ _Always yours.”_ He says. Thrusting up hard into her. So big he felt like he’s in her throat. Pushing her breath away. She sobs. She cries.

 

“I want to make you cum...” She whines out. Lips wet. Eyes glassy. Panting with exertion. Dripping sweat right onto him. All over him.

 

“ _Oh_ kitten. I’ll cum.” He promises. Shifting his hips to meet hers. “Don’t even worry about that. I’ll fill you right the _fuck up_ like you like.” He beams.

 

And then it’s all a wonderful symphony of movement and pleasure. Groans and curses and names. Chasing after sweet release with tended muscles and puffs of breath. They’re not far. She regains her head for a second to drag the knife over his sternum and that’s what gets him cumming too. She sees the slight red raised scratch it leaves in its wake. It doesn’t break the skin. But it breaks _him_.

 

When their orgasm does come, crashing over them both, engulfing them like crushing black quicksand. She resolutely holds his eye contact. She squeezes herself down on him. Before his punching thrusts grow desperate and she has to shut her eyes as shooting stars and streaking lights slam behind her eyelids. His thrusts brutal and as she ground on him she lost herself in her orgasm. Sheer pure _bliss_.

 

He shouts and groans for her as he cums. Pouring a hot load deep in her quivering walls. Head thrown back. Hair wild, brow dripping sweat down his face and nose. Cupping her hips like a man possessed. She grinds on his dick until she physically _can’t_ move anymore. Muscles too rubbery. Pleasure turning to pain.

 

She finishes humping her body into his and sags down on hands and knees. Being sure to chuck the knife away across the bed.

 

Still sat straddling him. Hard cock still stuffed up inside her. He loves how he felt her orgasm drip out her. Gush down his cock. Soaking his balls and the bed below. Wet squelching slick sounds getting louder and louder the longer she rode.

 

He opens hooded black silver shimmering eyes, his big pretty mouth gapes, the hand on her hip strokes her sweaty back and pulls her forwards to his chest. Crushing her tits and torso right down to his chest. She sinks there with a sigh against his sweaty sticky body.

 

With his cock still soft inside her- he just lets himself enjoy that for a few more minutes. Her soft tits on his chest. Her wobbly pert little ass under his big hands. He caresses her. Leans down to press a kiss against her temple. The smell of sweat, and hair and perfume up his nose.

 

“You’re did real good. Kitten.” He sighs with a smile into her hair. Radiating too much heat onto her in their gross sweaty hug.

 

“Not many people get to hold a knife to me and get to live to tell the tale. You’re the only one of them.” He smiles.

 

“You’re the _only one_...” He sighs. She smiles. Kisses between his thick pecs. Lets him know she hears him. How much she cherished those simple words.

 

He chucks his head back to the pillows. Thumping there. Stroking her dewy skin. Grumbling a savouring moan. He’d get to the bottom of Ben and his bullshit tomorrow. For now? There’s just holding her close.

 

_And that’s all._ _It’s_ _everything._

 

 

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s the porn doing you? Dirty I hope.


	40. Birthdays & Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth rotting chap: be warned

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A cute little peck on the cheek was what woke him. And there’s a soft whisper that followed it.

 

“Happy Birthday.” Evie cooed. Like the soft call of a dove chipping through his dark cloaking dreams. His head swims back to consciousness. To here, to her.

 

Soft rosebud lips on his cheek. Peppermint breath. A tangle of silky soft hair tickling his cheek. Notes of her new gold, warm, floral D&G perfume on faded sleepy skin. Makes him frown awake. Snuffling. Blinking open his heavy, sleep crusted eyes to her yellow cosy bedroom coated in a blazing bright, crisp autumn morning.

 

There’s some warm sunshine splashing on his bare back where the covers pool at his waist. Her honeysuckle and lilac bedsheets scent in his nose. Warm downy pillow under his face. The lace edging on it pressing its pattern into his cheek.

 

He swallows and shifts around in bed. Stretching out his big limbs and strong muscles. Turning onto his back, the covers rustled. He sniffs and sits up in bed. Seeing she was at the other end of the bed. Perched between his feet, in her cute white striped nightshirt. Knees tucked under herself. A tray of food at said knees.

 

She’d gathered up the quite the birthday breakfast in his honour. An omelette studded with basil and tomatoes. A side of buttery brown nutty toast. A coffee for him. Tea for her. And a slice of the - freshly baked and iced just last night - walnut and coffee cake she’d hidden from him in a tin. So he wouldn’t suspect she’d planned on anything in particular. Now, she was pouncing on him with the lovely wake up call of coffee, and his favourite cake.

 

It might have been that he wasn’t quite awake yet - but he blinks at the sight of a couple of cards resting propped against the vase holding a spreading white peony flower with a honey gold centre, she has it on the tray in a singular little blue and white spode vase. To make it look nice for him. Always nice for him. Her little touches never went unnoticed or unappreciated.

 

His voice is rusty and thick. Delicious deep. Where he hasn’t used it all night. His throat like a tract of gravel for his already bassy voice to come rumbling out. “What’s all this?” He smirks small and sleepy across at her.

 

She was practically bursting with smiles. Brimming over with beaming excitement. As sunny as the cold day that’s spiking frost at the golden brown forest outside. He sits up and curves his back into the pillows behind him. Shoving them up to cushion his back on the swirling wrought iron headboard.

 

“Starting your birthday off right...” She explains. Smiling. Moving a tad closer and spreading a tea cloth over his knees. Before placing the omelette plate on his flat thick thighs, passing him across a fork. Encouraging him to dig in. She nibbles at a nutty salty triangle of toast. And hands him across his coffee, which he sips and then stands on his bedside.

 

She wasn’t bringing up how it made her smile that they’d now wordlessly agreed on whose side of the bed is whose. Allocated in silence and warm familiarity. No matter her bed or his - she sleeps on the left, he’s on the right. It’s quietly grown into being. Their dynamic as a couple.

 

A lot of her touches had crept their quiet kind way into his place. Reminders of her cropping up everywhere. In every room the memory of her lives. A pair of her cute flat shoes by the doormat. A few books of hers heaped on his coffee table in the living room. One of her Gran’s stitched quilts folded on the back of the couch. The stripy blue and white one, swirled with navy roses.

 

Her herb plants that she’s propagated, growing green and healthy, spicing up the kitchen air by the sink - a sunny spot to nurture them. Reminds her to water them when she stands at the sink. Basil. Thyme. And Sage. Three blaring dots of stark leafy green colour in his otherwise stark and lifelessly dark kitchen. One of her little cakes of dried flower studded soap is sat in his shower with her other products. The lavender shampoo that he loves clings onto her pillow. Even his bedroom isn’t free of her, nowhere is, he’d despise it - he won’t ever want it to be devoid of Evie. She stacks books she thinks he’ll like on his bedside. Has a brown glass bottle of her geranium hand cream and a few discarded earrings heaped on her bedside.

 

She’s everywhere. He adores it. She’s snuck into his rotten pit of a heart and made it swell up, grow and beat.

 

Even looking out the window at his place, he can’t escape her touch. Nothing can it seems. He sees the new plant beds she spent days digging in. He let her - _of course_ he fucking let her. He’d let her dig the whole damn garden up to soil and ruin if she wanted. Colourful shrubs and evergreens bloom at him from across the lawn, now.

 

She’s making him wonder how he ever put up with being alone, his sex life inundated by his shitty harem of trashy exes. Now there’s this calm warmness growing in his chest. This thing, whatever it is, this glad emotion that he feels around her and for her. It’s all new to him, feeling this way. All he can identify about it, is that he likes it. Craves more if it. Craves making her happy.

 

She moves herself closer and offers him a slice of toast off the plate. He takes it, crunches his teeth into the salty buttered bread. She steals a couple of bites of the omelette from his lap.

 

“I’m sensing this is a birthday tradition in the Winslow household?” He smiles. Licking butter off his lips. Sipping his coffee, letting its cinnamon and vanilla warmth and taste ebb him awake.

 

Evie grins around her fork. “Of course it is. The designated birthday person gets their breakfast in bed. Where they may open their cards...” she reaches for the tray and puts the two envelopes on top of his his knees.

 

“...And also they can open _one_ of their presents...” She smiles, tucking a hand behind her and bringing back a small rectangular wrapped present. Setting it on top of the cards. It was bundled in thick brown wrapping paper. Tied with a red silky bow. No bigger than his hand. It wasn’t a big gift. But it was _all_ heart.

 

Something studs into his chest right then and there with all the intensity of an arrowhead. He sits there smiling at the present. Those black ice eyes of him are actually warm with disbelief at her as he reaches over and picks up the present - he would be heartened - if he possessed a heart.

 

She takes away the done with omelette plate and replaces it with cake instead. He can’t stop her shoving a little wax candle into his slice of cake, holding it up and lighting it with the zippo she kept cleverly tucked behind the flower vase. She shuffled right up close and holds the plate up with both hands.

 

“Happy birthday. Now blow out your candle and make a wish...” She smiles. Guarding the flame with one hand as she spoke.

 

Kylo lifts his eyes to reach hers. Sunlight glimmers nearly Amber-Sherry gold off those deeply divine eyes of his. His smirk curls. Tugs up the corner of his mouth. He exhales a breath that curls into a smile, nearly a laugh. He considers her for a second, glittering walnut eyes taking her in. Her eagerness. Her kind, caring nature. Her robin egg blue eyes and the warmth that seeps from her gorgeous face for him. Her sleepy tumbled-bed hair. Messy. Warm. Loving. _So so_ trusting. Too much.

 

_Love_. She looks like how love _should be._ Christ knows, he’s waited a lifetime to see and feel that. Never suspected he was capable of deserving of it - yet here they are.

 

He blows out his birthday candle with one puff. The smoke curls up to them. Tickling the air. She takes the candle out and hands him his slice of cake, and a fork.

 

“Not gonna ask me what I wished for?” He seeks curiously. Taking a bite of the moist, sweet coffee sponge. Walnut and brown sugar sitting on his tongue.

 

She frowns at him gently as she takes her own bite of the cake. Face all crinkled and furrowed. She looks way too cute to try and pass for looking angry.

 

“ _Can’t_ ask you that...” she says. Almost offended. “Cardinal rule of birthday wishes. Won’t come true if you say it aloud.” She says meaningfully. As if it was a punishable offence.

 

“You know how me and rules get along...” He smiles. Licking sickly sweet frosting off his fork and looking handsome. Eyes gleaming promiscuous. Evie knows those gorgeous sinful lips will now taste like coffee frosting and sugar.

 

“Like a house on fire...” She smiles ironically. Sweetly too. Knowing look on her face.

 

He finishes his cake. All but licks the plate clean. She leans over and stands to go set the tray on the dresser. Crawling back onto the bed near him when she’s done. Shoving his present and his cards across at him. Gesturing for him to open them.

 

He chuckles. Reaching for his cards. Ripping them out their envelopes.

 

The first one was signed in loopy hand, with love, from Flo and Arthur. It had a picture of a cartoon wedge of cheese, with a tacky saying of ‘ _you’ve aged well.’_ He recognises Flo’s dry humour right away. The next one was, of course, from her. A simple text. Three lines in old typewriter font. ‘ _Happy Birthday Handsome’_ with a little pink heart for the dot of the ‘i.’ She wishes him a happy day.

 

- _With love too. Signed, your Evie._

_His._ Because she was. All his. Body and Soul. ‘All for him body and soul’ as the song went...

 

He smiles at the sentiments. From his surrogate second grandma. And from his Kitten. The literal light of his dark crappy life.

 

She crosses her legs, cradles her tea in her hands. Watching from the end of the bed as he picks up the present. Feels it’s smooth crisp paper, before his big fingers fight to unwrap the little bow. It was always so amusing to see his gigantic paws he had for hands handle a task so finely. He just about manages it. He untucks the folded seam at both ends. And opens up the paper. It crumpled as he revealed the Mont Blanc box. He smiles when he sees the name on the lid.

 

He fists the paper into a ball, putting it aside before he lifts the lid and see’s the mechanical pencil inside cushioned on a grey velvet lined box. Two paperweights sit either end of the pencil. Because he’d once said when he’d been drawing at her long rectangular dining table, that his plans kept on rolling back into itself. Smudging his drawing.

 

“It’s trimmed in platinum. High polymer 0.9mm lead.” She explained. Not something he necessarily needed - what else could she get for the man who had everything?

 

He picks up the pencil and weighs it in his hand. When he turns it over, he can see that she had it engraved too. His initials entwined.

 

“Nothing too fancy or sentimental.” She pipes up. “Just something nice to cherish, when you’re at work drawing your beautifully brilliant houses...” She says hopefully. Trying to gauge if he liked it. Apart from his smile he’s not said much. Just admired it.

 

He looks up to her. Gestures with a beckoning tilt of his head for her to come closer. She sets her mug down and comes closer. Knees stabbing into the duvet. When she’s within arms reach, he slithers an arm around her waist and tugs her close to kiss her hungrily. Firmly and thankfully. Pouring affection and gratitude into the kiss.

 

“Was that a Thankyou?” She worries.

 

“Maybe.” He smirks. “ _Maybe_ that was my wish.” He rumbles handsomely. Smile captivating and hungry. Just like his eyes.

 

“Do you like it?” She asks. Still fretting. Nudging a finger to the present.

 

“Kitten. I’m not in the habit of having anyone even think of me on my birthday. Let alone get me a present, and make me breakfast in bed.” He nudges her into another kiss. “It’s a _beautiful_ present.” He explains.

 

Though part of his brain was nearly offended she’d spent a healthy chunk on a not-very-cheap top of the line Mont Blanc pencil for him. She didn’t have that kind of money. But she was happy. He can’t begrudge that, or try and take it away from her.

 

Then he’s tipping his head towards the empty cake plates. “No one’s ever made me a birthday cake before either.”

 

Evie’s face falls and she sits up from where she’s been cuddled into him. He tries to soothe, smear away the frown between her brows with his big thumb. She should _never_ be sad. Not with him if he can help it. Certainly she shouldn’t give two fucks about his awful childhood.

 

_But, oh, how she does._

_“_ Never _?”_ She asks, unbelieving.

 

“I grew up in a house where no-one found anything special about celebrating another year of life.” He tells.

 

“It seemed instead like a great opportunity for my dad to remind us how unwanted and worthless we are. How he wishes we’d never been born at _all_.” He speaks lowly. Almost factually.

 

Because to him - it was _fact_. It was every year he grew up accustomed to his birthday not being anything but another day of the week.

 

No cake. No parties. No presents. They might’ve gotten a card each from grandma with a few fistful of dollars tucked between its fold. Then she’s telling them to hide it in a serious hush. They learnt the hard way to hide that money away quick. Or else dad would seize every dollar and snatch it away to go towards a bottle of Jack.

 

One year he’d wrenched the dollars right out of Ben’s pocket. He saw the green bill sticking out the corner of his jacket. He grabbed Ben by the neck and yanked the money - barely $5 - away from him. Dangling it above his head. Taunting him. “ _What you doing with this kid? What? You fucking stolen it. Huh?”_

Spitting vile at Ben as he tried to grab it back. He punched him in the stomach. Winded his son. Beat him down to the front living room floor. Kicked him into the carpet. Smearing blood on his boots. He spat on Ben’s crumpled sobbing body as he retreated and snarled how he was going to the local dive bar with their money. Ben didn’t need that money. Didn’t deserve it. What did his waste of space and skin son’s have to spend money on anyway?

 

Kylo had been upstairs, music playing. He hadn’t heard. Came down when he heard the door slam. Peeled his brother off the disgusting grey rug stomped into with big heavy mud crusted boots and matted with whiskey stains and cigarette butts. And now blood. He was the eldest. He was responsible. He tried his best to mop up his twins broken skin and nose. Patching Ben up with band aids and smearing stingy betadine cream into his cuts.

 

He remembers how he had to stand on the sink counter to reach the first aid box in the over-head cupboard. They were only nine years old after all-

 

It was heart wrenching to see other neighbour kids having fantastic parties, clowns, cake, ice cream, balloons, and getting spoilt rotten on their birthdays. Kylo and Ben are only reminded how much they aren’t wanted on that day. Barked at about how they’d ruined their father’s life. Mom wouldn’t even defend them, wouldn’t stick up for her Twins against one of his moods or his drunken rage - or she’d risk having to get her jaw re-wired again.

 

She was, as always, silent about everything. Uninvolved. Detached. She did nothing. Kylo often reflects how that was _worse_ than all the broken bones and scars dad has given him. Because she’d never done anything to try and stop him beating everyone into submission.

 

He hates that she was weak. He had to step up. Had to be the strong one. The responsible one. As he was always scarred and beaten to help get it into his head - he was older by a minute. _One fucking minute._ That made him responsible for Ben. Setting an example for his kid brother.

 

Kylo’s traditional birthday activity would usually be him, in his room, alone, at night, doing his homework. Not bothering or hurting anyone. Sat at his sparse desk as he tries to get ahead of his homework for school the next day. Eyes squinting in the one angle light he had poised over his desk. Eyes straining to do algebra or English. Or one of his new puzzle books Grandma snuck to him in his backpack. Left them there for him to enjoy. They sometimes did crosswords together.

 

His dad, home from a shift, not drunk yet- or sometimes so drunk he couldn’t stand straight, swaying. Would kick in his door and snarl utter hatred at him. Reminding him that this was the day, however many years old he was, that him and Ben had ruined his fucking life.

 

He would taunt and provoke, and jab at his son with cruel words. Insults that cropped up frequently; He was stupid. He was worthless. Ben was worthless. They would never amount to anything. Wasn’t a real man. Real men don’t draw. He’s a fuckin’ pussy. He’d be mocked at the steel works by his colleagues. Having such a _fuckin’ weak pussy_ for a son. Grow up and get a real job. A man’s job, like his.

 

Kylo would curl more into his desk. Trying to block out this usual tirade of poison. Then he’d start rambling on, asking about how his birthday was treating him. How he didn’t deserve anything more than the nothing he always got. He was gearing Kylo up to retaliate just so he could beat him down for ‘talking back.’ Sometimes he did fight back. Sometimes he just blocked him out as best as he could.

 

Kylo just sat there year after year and made himself a promise that one day he’d slip a knife in this bastards back over and over and over again. Fortunately, for his dad, liver failure and lung cancer stole that particular wish right from under him.

 

Kylo would’ve taken great pleasure in watching his father’s expression for one last time - when he slipped a knife between his ribs - and came to realise that his son was _much more_ than his father had ever amounted too. Rich. Successful. Powerful. Whereas he died with racked up debt after debt, had been fired from his shitty job and had nothing in his life but his vicious bullying to show for it. Smoking and drinking to death in a crummy trailer park by the train tracks, in some washed up backwater hick town.

 

He deserved every second of his self imposed penury and misery.

 

Kylo feels how she shifts. The duvet crumpled. Feather down rustling. She gives that big chest a one armed cuddle. She’s all warmth and kisses. Smothering him with it.

 

“That’s despicable that they made you feel that way.” She says into his ribs. Kissing his warm skin. Blazing tattoos against her lips.

 

He shrugs. He always shrugs about his horrible childhood. “I got used to it Kitten. Don’t waste your anger on it.” He explains. Rubbing and nuzzling his lips into her bed-head hair. Big hand poised with his thumb stroking over her ear.

 

She frowns more. Birthdays _were special._ They should be made as special as money and situation would allow. - he’s never even had a birthday cake before. Not even as a kid. That wounds her. Cuts deep. She can’t forget that.

 

She’s putting that horrible tradition to death- starting tonight. He’s under orders to finish work early. Because they’ve got a congregation of friends coming tonight in honour of him. For his birthday feast. Some local small town folk. Everyone whose helped along with the shop. Todd. From Todd’s hardware, and his lovely wife, Phoebe. Anna - the curvy girl from the Florists. She was bringing her girlfriend, Bobbi. Joe and Sam from the bakery. Flo and Arthur. And a couple of Flo’s old ladies who were particularly enamoured with Kylo. Ethel and Connie. Both of whom were constantly bugging him to come host bingo, or come with them to bridge night at the town hall.

 

“What do you usually do on your birthday?” She dread’s the answer. Judging by the nature of Ben’s drug fuelled orgy invite that stuck in her brain. And his filthy snarled intimation that Kylo’s attended them in the past.

 

“Spend the day trying to forget all about it.” He says. Laying kisses into the messy silken nest of her hair. His voice so deep it rumbles down to the bone of her skull.

 

He exhales a sigh. “I usually work right through it. Stay late at the office. Down a bottle of whiskey when I get in. Just so I can blur it all out. I don’t have any kind of regard for it.” He says.

 

“Occasionally, I’d drop by one of Ben’s parties. Drink a whole case of champagne or liquor. Fuck vapid awful women I hated until I got bored of being around that crowd. Got it all out my system.” He says lowly. No shame in his tone.

 

Evie wasn’t jealous - she knew he’d had a life before her. And he wasn’t a monk. Not with the way his handsome looks could capture girls’ attention. Rather, she actually found she was sad for him. Just using things and people to forget.

 

“Ben always has those over the top parties huh?” She asks.

 

“Yes.” He nods. Stroking her jaw. “The same thing every year. The usual hotel, or club, or yacht. Last year I believe it was a $13 million yacht borrowed from one of his buddies at the office. He stuffed it with Versace models if I recall. Blow. Veuve Clicquot. Weed. Ecstasy. All of it. He drinks and screws his way through his day. Wearing a tacky gold crown on his head so people know it’s his birthday. Ending up naked in bed with five or six people at the end of the night.” He says.

 

Evie blinks. Brows raised. But she didn’t find herself _surprised_ by hearing any of this.

 

It sounded like Ben, that unwisely unique slutty way of celebrating. A whole blitz and atomic bomb of too much. Sensory overload. Coke. Drink. Cheap sex. Everything. Heaping himself with all of his unsavoury vices so he could forget. Not give himself a chance to think. Just get sluts on his dick and whiskey in his belly. Blow up his nose. And he was good to go.

 

“Well. I can promise our dinner party tonight will be very tame in comparison to... _that_.” She promises.

 

“Thank _fuck_ for that.” He chuckles.

 

“I’m the _far_ better off man. Believe me.” He smirks. Holding her. She kisses his meaty pec for that. He feels her cheeks crumpled as she beams a grin. She rubs her face into his skin like the kitten she is. Nuzzling. Savouring her big man.

 

“Off to the shower with you, birthday boy. I have lots of dishes to make in your honour tonight.” She strokes her hand over his hard ridged tummy. Hardly any softness to him. She wouldn’t mind even if there was.

 

He’s all athletic hard slabs of big hulking broad muscle. But she thinks he’d be awful cute if he got all chubby and slightly soft in the middle. She’d find it adorable - but knows it’s likely never to happen. She’ll remain the plump cellulite stricken one in this relationship. With her chunky thighs and her wobbly ass.

 

“That was my second wish-“ He pipes up dirtily.

 

“You only had one. _One_ candle. _One_ wish.” She reiterates in her trying-to-be-stern voice. Sitting up and going for her dressing gown. Before she can get off the bed. He stands and snatches her in his arms. Pinning her back to bed with his hips and arms.

 

“I wished; for no lonely shower this morning.” He teases. Needs her soapy little hands digging into his muscles to wake them up. He wants a good lathered up, rub down. _Wants to give her a good dicking down before work too._

 

“You’ve told me. Now it won’t come true. Ruined it.” She smiles. He’s occupied. Kissing up her shoulder. He bites down when she plays with him. His black eyes narrow at her under his messy sleep swirled mane. Reorganised from where it met with her pillow.

 

“I can _make_ it come true.” He promises. He drags her off the bed, heaps her body into his arms. Takes her into the bathroom. Yanks the water onto steaming hot in the shower overhanging her little tub. Pulls the curtain across so harshly it’s a wonder he didn’t rip it off the rail.

 

He devours her with kisses as they strip naked. It didn’t take long. He was only in boxers. She’s only in a nightshirt. One upwards motion and lift of arms and they’re naked. His hands dig into her ass and thighs. Stopping to kiss her desperately. They both taste like coffee icing. He sucks the sugar off her tongue. And the breath out her lungs. He drags her small form into his big body. Enclosed in his arms. Meaty erection stabbing into her belly. Big paws everywhere. Pinching nipples. Squeezing her ass. Stroking her inner thighs. Kissing her enough to get her pussy wet for him.

 

“Let’s get you real fucking _wet, huh_?” He smirks. She blushes rose pink. He’s then leading her into the bath. They get hot and steamy with the beating water spitting powerful down on them. Tamping hair down sticky wet. He lets them get fully wet. Heated from the water.

 

“I’ll take my second present now.” He mumbles into her neck. Fingertips slipping into her blazing tight pussy. Eyes wicked dark as he peers down hotly at her. Six feet four of utter sex.

 

He sinks to a crouch and drapes one of her thighs over his shoulder. Big nose nudging into her perfect hot pink cunt. Followed closely by a lap of his tongue. His hands held her ass and he feels the shower beating off his tough skinned scarred back. She sighs his name. He pinches one nipple. Drinks her down. She shudders head tipped back. Hair leaking down her slippery skin.

 

“This is supposed to be a day about _you_ -“ she sighs. Digging fingers through his dripping hair. At the very least, she should be on her knees for _him_.

 

He speaks. Drooling into her pussy. But he still speaks. Smirks into her inner thighs. Dimples creasing at her crotch. Tongue tasting up her cunt already.

 

“Don’t go denying me my _second_ breakfast...” he nuzzles her clit with his tongue. Sucking on it.

 

She sighs a chuckle. It soon morphs into a moan.

 

 

~

 

 

 

She shooed Kylo off to work with kisses and after giving him a thorough soapy rub down in the shower. Her hands trailing down his big back as he pinned her to the shower wall and slowly fucked her brains out.

 

She helps him dry off and dress. Wraps herself in her fluffy gown - the one he bought for her with the monogrammed breast pocket. She winds her hair in a turban and helps him with his tie after he picks out his suit.

 

Navy mohair. Navy shirt. And a deep blue tie that she helpfully knots in a Windsor around his neck. He smiles when she tucks her pencil in his inside breast pocket. Patting it after. After that, she helps him secure his silver and blue Omega watch on his wrist.

 

He’s admiring how she’s all cute. Pink from the shower. Cheeks rosy. Hair wrapped up in a towel turban. Sat on the bed. Knees tucked under her butt as she helped him dress up. She peers up and drags a hand through his silky black hair. Freshly washed and brushed. Cinnamon citrus and Aqua Di Parma beating its hot irresistible scent off his skin.

 

“What time is dinner tonight?” He asks as he does up his cuffs.

 

“Be home for six to shower up.” She tells him. He leans down and steals a kiss. Let’s it get slow and languid against her mouth. A kiss so good she sighs into it like the heavenly thing it is.

 

“May I ask what’s on the menu.” He adds curiously.

 

“You may not.” She smiles nicely. Brushing both palms over his big chest. Resting on his silky smooth lapels. “Guest of honour. You just show up and carry on enjoying your day. Whilst we mortals scurry around and do your bidding.” She leans up and kisses the tip of his nose.

 

He grumbles a noise that was either pleasure or disagreement. “Flo’s helping you out still, right?” He seeks.

 

“She is. I don’t think she’d let me do it on my own. She’s too stubborn. And she loves you as if you’re her own, and wants you to have a nice birthday.” She beams. “And so do I.”

 

He sighs a soft exhaled smile to that. And they both know, there’s _no_ fighting Flo Bernstein once she’s made her mind up. Half the county knows that well-learned fact.

 

She sees him to the door before he’s too late to set off for the office on time. Handing him some coffee in one of his posh Kinto travel coffee flasks. As he gathers his plans and work satchel.

 

They part with a kiss that almost melts them both, right there, into a puddle of goo on her doormat. He’s fisting her gown in his hands. Stroking her plump little ass in his big mitts. She’s got hers twined in his hair. Stroking at his neck. Nails scraping his skin like he likes. He still had some raw scratches from their knife adventures a few nights back.

 

The ones raking down his pecs he certainly still felt. Where she’s clawed her hands into him and rode him with passion like no one before ever had.

 

“We’ll make you late...” She sighs. Wet lips sucking and smacking together. She tips her head back and sighs happily, mewling, as he begins to such her neck and bruise her collarbone with his teeth and his tongue.

 

“I’m the CEO. I can take a few fucking minutes to kiss my girl.” He moans. Sneaking his hand up the back of her naked thigh. Dragging his teeth over her kicking heartbeat that pulsed her neck. She’s groaning in pleasure. Trying to tug him closer by his hair.

 

“ _Go_. Before I change my mind and keep you in bed all day...” Evie sighs. Pulling back to sweetly kiss his lips once.

 

He makes a growling sound of deep appreciation. “You think I’d give you that choice? Kitten. I’d throw you over my shoulder and carry you to bed like a Viking.” He smiles. It almost sounds like a promise.

 

They kiss one last time. “Have a good birthday, day...” She sighs happily. Silly. Silly in love with him.

 

He takes her chin and kisses her firmly. Before turning away out the door and down the porch. Striding off through the cold wood. With the chilly cold nipping at her toes she turns and heads back inside. She watches his car disappear through the woods. Til it’s nothing but a granite black speck, glimmering in the horizon.

 

She dries off her hair and gets dressed. Ratty grey leggings. Slippers and a navy Henley, she’ll have her apron on most of the day anyway. It doesn’t matter if she dirties these clothes. She had a real pièce de résistance of a dress to go slip into later.

 

It’s a Liv Hart dress. A beautiful pale pink midi length. Ends at her calves. Sewn with little chiffon wispy flowers. In white, ivory, pink, and very pale blue. Pleated, low but not too low V neck. Flowy flower stitched skirts. It was chic. A pretty and flirty number. Slightly sheer too. But not too obviously transparent. She’d wear it with some of the nude blush pink Prada pumps Kylo bought her on one particular shopping excursion.

 

She has a cup of tea and makes a start on scrubbing dirt off some veggies to prep them for later. Home grown carrots and spuds. It isn’t long before her trusty helper shows up. Flo has her arms loaded with string bags. Supplies for her famous Meat loaf. Evie fires up the oven and both ladies get to it.

 

Kylo’s favourite meal, for being a worldly well traveled man, his favourite dish was a simple classic. Meatloaf and mashed potato, with a side of sautéed string beans. Evie was trusting the hearty meatloaf to Flo. She was going to herb rub two roast chickens, English country style sage and thyme, and roast them with lemon. Cherry pie and cool whip to finish. And a whole assortment of cakes. Flo’s doing a big square chocolate sponge with white frosting. Piping it with a happy birthday in pale blue. And Anna promised she was bringing a cake too.

 

He’d never had a birthday cake before? This year, he’s getting _three_. And that thought makes her smile.

 

They would have ten mouths to feed tonight after all. Cake and food aplenty won’t hurt. Evie and Flo would make plenty to go around. After all - Flo was a feeder. It was in her southern nature.

 

They cook, and natter, and break into some wine early when four o’clock rolls around. By then, all the dishes were ready. The meatloaf prepared. Chickens ready to roast. Cake iced and standing proud. They look across at their handiwork with a glimmer of pride as they sip some rosé.

 

“I think our boy will be well fed tonight.” Flo beams in pride. Wearing one of Winnie’s old aprons. Patting her knee softly as they both drank. Sat at her kitchen table.

 

“Can’t be doing with a guy who’s all skin and bone. And that big man of yours sure can put it away, sugar.” Flo hastens to add. Evie agreed.

 

She put some of that down to prison. That place seemed to have dulled his appetite. In everything. Seemed to sharpen him to nothing but crude anger. Like the shiv that tore open his face. It stripped away his personality and made him just a brutal shell. He hated the food. The guards. Finch. The inmates. Hated being a caged beast. Now he was out? He’s grabbing and snatching his life back. Appetites coming back full force. And all the pleasures that came with having a life again - not a sentence. Fine food. Fine wine. Touch starved, he drowns himself in her. In every way.

 

“I think this is the first time anyone’s even thrown him anything resembling a party.” Evie tells Flo in honest confidence.

 

Flo, to her credit, takes it in her stride. She smiles and nods. She doesn’t let out how that pangs at her heart that the poor man had never experienced a birthday party thrown for him before, by all the people who love him.

 

“Then we’ll have to make it a good un’.” She winks with a twinkle in her mischievous sunken bright eyes.

 

Evie beams her brightest smile. “I think we will.” She says proudly. His favourite meal. His favourite people. Presents and a birthday dinner party in his honour. What’s not to love?

 

“Is his uh, doppelgänger coming to this shindig tonight?” Flo seeks. “Cause If there’s a single man who looks like your Kylo sat at the table, we may have to get the spray bottle out for Ethel & Connie. They’ll fall on the poor boy like wolves.” She warns with a wag of her bony finger.

 

Evie shifts in her seat. Blushes a little. “No Ben won’t be here. He and Kylo aren’t... close. He has his own... _party_ , going on tonight.” She says.

 

“They’re twins but they ain’t close?” Flo asks.

 

“Ben’s... a little extroverted, where Kylo is quieter. I think they grate against each other as siblings.” Evie’s telling her.

 

“Amen to that.” Flo scoffs. Saluting with her wine glass. She was one of six. Siblings would always have their troubles. Family ties would always bind. But the bickering was second nature. Even in her late age. People grew up, grew different, married, moved out of state, and that was bound to divide some folk up.

 

“You mind if I shoot and steal the guest bath honey? This old bag of tricks takes a long time to get presentable...” Flo says. Gulping down the last of her wine and creaking her old knees into a stand. Evie smiles her to go right ahead.

 

“Sure. You know soaps on the side and towels in the chiffonier.” She knows Flo likes seeing Winnie’s old room sometimes.

 

Not to make her sound batty, but she would talk to Winnie as if she was still in the house. Still sat in the very room with her. They were friends for thirty four years. Evie can’t even begin to fathom what sort of fierce bond that had amassed between them. She listens to Flo head up the whining stairs. House creaking and cracking with movement. She hears Flo mutter fondly to the spare room with the attached guest bath - the one that used to be Win’s room.

 

She’s occupies herself with setting the table for tonight. Ten placemats all set out with cutlery and crockery. She’s put a striped table runner down the centre. And white pillar candles rest in jars surrounded by lovely jade-teal eucalyptus. Grey cloth mats sit under each plate. The wine glasses and water goblets will glint like far off stars, later, in the candle light. She slices lemons for the two big glass water jugs. Tosses it in the freezer with the ice.

 

She wanders around the kitchen. Everything’s done. All taken care of. She still double checks anyway. Wanting it perfect for Kylo’s special day. She checks the chicken. Smoothed out wrinkles on the foil covering the chunky meatloaf. She goes for more wine. Just an innocent tipple. Her phone buzzes for attention on the dining table. She picks it up as she sips her drink.

 

Whatever number of Ben’s she blocks. Or deletes. He still finds his way to wriggle on through.

 

_“Hey. You coming tonight sweetie? Best spot in the place is still available...”_ His tone was as suggestive as it always was.

 

She sighs. Not in anger. Or in irritation. Rather now she was just wishing Ben could find someone _good_ he could have all to himself. Someone with a healthy personality for him.

 

She feels almost cruel dismissing him so readily. Not that the guilt was enough to change her mind - it _never_ would be she’s too far smitten - she just doesn’t want to see Ben miserable and drug addled for the rest of his life. Numbing his bitter loneliness with cocaine, pills, sex and drink. Constantly bombarding her with flirting and horniness to remind her they’d been intimate once upon a long time ago.

 

She want’s _someone good_ for Ben Solo.

 

She puts her phone away. Tucking it next to the side of the fridge resting on a stack of cookbooks. Letting herself forget about it. Merely because she dreads answering it. And she dreads ignoring it. But that’s what she feels is best. His harem of models are bound to turn up soon. Something leggy and slutty, or someone pretty and well-hung will distract his attention before long. She’s certain of it. He’ll forget all about her. _Won’t he?_

_Perhaps that was even a vain naïve hope on her part._

She sets aside Ben’s clamouring for attention. And focuses instead on Kylo’s birthday dinner. Matter of fact, she manages to focus right up until five when she has to go slip upstairs to put some face on and change into her dress and heels for him - and a little _something_ else for his benefit too.

When she re-emerges downstairs, in a cloud of lavender shampoo, jasmine body lotion, and vanilla amber D&G, she steps through to the kitchen as she’s putting in her second earring. She rounds the kitchen doorway and feels her skirts swishing about her knees. Heels scuffing the wood floors as she walked. Where her arms are bent to fiddle with the back of her earring, the charm bracelet on her wrist clatters and jangles together. Charms hitting the chain. It was her Grandmas charm bracelet. A little ‘Winslow’ touch to go with her outfit.

 

Flo was already at the kitchen island, folding some napkins into bishop hats to go on the dinner table.

 

“ _Ah_. Sugar, now you clean up damn good alright. You look beautiful. Haven’t seen that dress on ya before...” Flo grins as Evie steps across to her.

 

Flo was dressed up pretty too. She had on a neat blue flannel dress. Simple neckline. Cap sleeves. And beige sling back sandal heels on her feet. And those thick taupe old lady stockings rolled up her legs to keep them warm.

 

“Thankyou. Kylo spoiled me with it. You look very lovely too.” Evie smiles. And kisses Flo’s cheek. She’d showered up. She was all talc and Roses. And Chanel No.5.

 

Her usual pink rinse beehive sleek and scooped back. Scarlet lipstick on and dark lashes and liner framing her eyes. She’d worked as a beauty mannequin in some big department store in a nearby town in the 60’s, back when she was in her teens. She learnt a thing or two about beauty.

 

“ _Take good care of your face, Sweetie.”_ Flo’d always say. “ _The other end is for sitting on.”_

 

Evie always marvelled at pictures of Flo as a young woman. She looked striking. Like a black and white movie star.

 

Evie loves the picture Flo had up in her hallway. It was a picture of her that looked like it had come straight from a magazine. A poised young woman with a Colgate, cherry lips smile. She was in her Bartolli’s department store uniform. A black kitty foyle dress and a neat little string of pearls around her neck. Willowy waist cinched in tight with a belt. Long legs topped with black court shoes _\- ‘I had great pins back then, you know sugar. Not like these wretched old knobbledy things now’_ she always said.

 

Glance at the picture and it looked like a fleeting Hollywood sepia and black candid of Diana Dors. Right down to the blonde Lauren Bacall-esque brushed out pin curls. Flo was utterly beautiful then. And she was still beautiful now. Still kept the habit of a full face of pretty make up that made her brilliant smile shine. Though the years had aged her, she still kept a bit of her figure. But always staunchly moaned about the fact all that smoking and sugar, she ate when she was a wayward teen wrecked her stick pin figure - she didn’t mind much.

 

Evie often pondered that if she looked half as good as Flo in her mid eighties, after five babies and a lifetime of travel and good food. Then she’d be a lucky girl indeed.

 

“This is pretty though...” Flo says. Setting down the napkins and drawing out Evie’s skirts outwards from her thighs. Seeing all the wispy gauzy stitched flowers and the barely foamy pink overlay of silk mesh tulle. It was muted, pale and chic without being too severe or flashy like some designer dresses could be. It was a pleated skirt that gathered at the waist and swished when she moved. Dias cut too, vintage at a casting eye of it.

 

Evie smiles. Tucking her wavy hair behind one ear and peering down at it. “It’s not _too_ fancy is it?”

 

“No.” Flo says warmly. Smiling fondly when she sees Winnie’s charm bracelet on her granddaughters wrist. “No. _God_ no. It’s just enough.” She beams. Evie grins happily back at her.

 

“Well. Not that I needed to know this. But he must be one _hell_ of a guy to buy you such nice things. I like that he spoils ya, Evie. It’s what you deserve.” Flo says. Looking all teary eyed.

 

Evie holds her second grandmothers hands. Flo rubs her thumbs across her knuckles and looks like her heart is about to burst.

 

“You know...” She begins. Getting all choked up. Voice thick with love. “I know your young man had a, _a horrible_ start in life. And a rough time. And I know you’ve been lonely and suffering in ways you could never say. What with caring for your Gran. And then when your Momma got sick. And... I’m just _so.....glad,_ you two found one another. Because I can see how much love there is between you. You both needed it.” She chokes out with sheer heart.

 

“All this, _gosh_ , and I’m just trying to say I think he’s wonderful for you. Skeletons in closets and _all_.” Flo says. Because she knows Kylo isn’t perfect. She knows how he is. And what he is. Knows that things like love and relationships are and will always be hard for him. He thought that his Kitten deserved perfect. Deserved better than him.

 

Evie always thought perfection was entirely too overrated anyway-

 

“I love how you love him.” Evie says with a laugh squeezing Flo’s hands tight. “Because _so_ do I.” She smiles. Close to tears.

 

Flo tenderly cups Evie’s cheek. She always considered her one of her own. Not _like_ one of her children. She just was. Flo couldn’t love her more. Not even if she’d been the one who gave birth to her. It’s just how it is.

 

“If he loves you, Evie, then he must be kind, and good and special. Because you’re all those things, sweetie and you couldn’t not match up.” She accepts. Because she knows that if Kylo’s got any of his sociopathic nastiness or bitterness left, then loving Evie might just be the thing to make it all dry up. Calm it down keep it tame for want of loving her.

 

She’d never want Kylo to change who he was. She’s certain he won’t change from how he is. Life made him the way he is. But Flo’s seen them together, she sees how Evie’s softness corrodes his unloved tough exterior. Acceptance in its purest form.

 

“ _Ugh_. Look at us gettin all silly!” Flo chides with a laugh. Wiping away her silvery tears.

 

Evie does the same. She fetched them both a square of kitchen towel to dry their respective tears. They sniffle. Smile and compose themselves.

 

“Well. Before we move completely away from the subject. Might I say Thank you, and how grateful I am for you helping me with this dinner, for Kylo tonight.” She beams.

 

“ _Honey_. You’re both one of the Bernstein clan now. And part of this town. This is what family do for each other. You don’t gotta thank me for it...” She smiles.

 

“You forget, I’m british. That’s what we do.” Evie grins. Flo chuckles. She steps across to the fridge to take out the string beans ready to cook them. She sees her phone lights up with yet another notification. She hasn’t looked at it for at least two hours.

 

And she has _16_ missed texts. A couple calls. All from Ben. From his texts, he seemed to be getting more and more desperate with each minute she didn’t answer him.

 

“ _This is the view. What do you reckon sweetie?”_

_“I got that wine you like. The white Sauvignon. I also got a bottle of the Riesling that we had on our first lunch date. Remember?”_

 

“ _Please come. I want you to come. Come see me. I need your pussy in my lap. On my mouth. Everywhere.”_

His tone is whiny. Desperate. It breaks her heart. His spelling was shifting and slurring mistakes at the end. That would be the drink or the drugs setting in his blood.

_“Oh_ yeah.” Flo pipes up. Wafting a hand through the air at her phone. “It kept on ringing and buzzing earlier. I picked it up...” She says nonchalantly. Evie’s eyes go wide.

 

“You did?” She chokes. Blood prickling up in panic.

 

“...but I think it was one of those cold callers. You know, panting moaning perverts who asks you what you’re wearin.” She tutts. Rolls her eyes and then crosses to the stove. “I’ll get going on the potatoes, toots.” Evie listens as Flo shuffles across to the stove.

 

“I see. Yeah. I hate those...” Evie laughs nervously. Having a feeling she’s dodged a bullet there.

 

She brings the butter over to Flo. Whose stirring the boiling potatoes. She’s then trying not to snort into laughter at the thought of Flo warding off Ben’s slutty antics. She puts some bottles of red wine on the table. Before remembering to go and fetch a couple more from the cellar. She’s just coming back up and out, brushing cobwebs off her dress, when she sees a big hulking shadow at the window of her front door. She can’t help it. Her body just throws itself into joy at seeing even the imitation of his shape.

 

He opens the door, and steps in. Cold autumn night air blustering in behind him. Scuttling paper leaves tumble in after his shoes. He’s still a fine figure of a man in his all navy suit. Collar turned up high on his navy wool over coat. Raven hair all swirled by the wind. Cheeks, tips of his ears, and tip of his nose kissed rosy pink by the wind.

 

Kissable. Handsome. Birthday boy.

 

She practically floats towards him, treads cushioned by the soft rugs. And his eyes thaw when he sees her too. That black ice in his eyes melts for her. _Only for her._ Coming towards him in that pretty pale dress. Skirts swishing. Earrings glittering. Smile: disarming.

 

“Kitten.” He smiles in greeting. She’s forgotten how that deep voice woo’s her pathetic knees. He just stands his work satchel down and wastes no time in getting her in his arms. She’s too pretty to resist like this.

 

His arms sling around her waist. She strokes his lapels and they bring each other together. Crushed as one into a bruising hot kiss that ends way too quick.

 

“You look too gorgeous to be true.” He growls at her sexily. She blushes and strokes his hair.

 

Swipes her fingers right through it. Makes him melt. He’d never say anything. He doesn’t even show her he likes it save for his tipped up smile. But he likes it. A lot. Would never show her how much it makes him shiver. His hair was always his weakness and she’s zipped right to it.

 

Stick a knife into his thigh, twist it, and he won’t even bat an eyelid. Wouldn’t even change a shade. But tug on his hair? That truly brings him to his knees. Or maybe that’s just what she does to him. Her influence makes him weak - in the fucking best way.

 

“How’s my birthday boy?” She asks proudly. On tiptoes in his arms. Waist crushed to him. She’s no hope of escape. Her hands flat to his chest.

 

“He’s better now.” He grumbles. “And he’s got a bone to pick with you...” He narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

 

“ _Oh?”_ She smiles wider. It stabs his fucking heart in three. Makes his rotten heart start to claw out his fucking throat with how good she is. She’s too good. Makes his hands claw into her ass cause, _holy fuck_ , he just _needs_ her. That’s all he knows.

 

If Flo wasn’t in the kitchen he’d have snuck his hand up her skirts to pinch her clit for that.

 

“There was a box of doughnuts on my desk this morning. With a happy birthday balloon and a triple espresso on my desk.” He remarks. “Know anything about that?” Those eyes narrow to black slits. Gazing down at her.

 

She tries to be all affable and gracefully blasé about it. But it’s lost on the man who can read her like an open book.

 

“Nothing to do with me.” She chirps innocently. Distracting herself twirling a fingertip over the silky knot of his tie.

 

He tilts his head in that very dangerous way he does. It doesn’t frighten her like it always used too. She just kisses those big plump lips of his and then _all_ is forgiven.

 

“No?” He says. Eyes like daggers. They grazed her. They didn’t cut. She had this Sociopath in the palm of her hand. 

 

“No texts to my assistant I’m not aware of.” He presses.

 

She leans up and kisses just under his warm, solid jaw. He feels her smile. “No.” She pauses.

 

“But- _Oh_.” She pipes up. Grinning.

 

“Maybe a couple. How is his mother’s knee now? After she’s had her surgery...” She beams. Kylo’s drags in a breath that morphs into a growl.

 

“You’re lucky Flo’s here. Or I’d have you upstairs and over my _knee_ for that.” He smirks darkly. Whispering to her.

 

“Come say hi to Flo.” She beams. Kissing his cheek. And pulling one big hot hand along with her. Dragging him into the kitchen.

 

Mind- dragging was a choice word. That big body went nowhere it didn’t wish to go. But it does for her. Always soft for his Kitten.

 

“Hey stud.” Flo winks as they enter the kitchen. “Happy birthday...” She smiles. Coming across to hug him. He beams and stoops down low so she can hug him.

 

“I got your card this morning. Thank you Flo. Arthur too.” He beams at the old lady. Who was now clutching his hand and smiling up at him proudly.

 

“It’s our pleasure, honey.” She smiles. Squeezing his hand tightly before tottering back to the stove.

 

“Hope you brought your appetite. We got quite a feast in your honour.” She winks promiscuously. Apron tied over her dress as she stirred the potatoes in their pot. One hand back on her hip.

 

He nods. “Good thing I did.” He grins. “Can I help at all? I could fetch some wine from the cellar.” He offers.

 

“You may not.” Flo scoffs from the stairs. “Winslow. Get that boy upstairs and in the shower and a suit before our guests arrive.” She chides. Sternly daggering her bright eyes over at the pair of them. Commander Bernstein had spoken.

 

Evie places her hands on Kylo’s shoulders. Stretched to reach them. “Come on. Before she has you standing court martial.” Evie whispers to him. Patting his arms in comforts.

 

Kylo does as his second Grandma says. He smiles as he steps away. They were making it quite clear he was not a helper tonight; he was under strict orders.

 

Him and Evie get out into the hall again. Flo calls after them. “We got no time for none of your necking it, either.” She calls through in a warning.

 

Kylo gives Evie a look. “ _Looks_ like I’ll have to kiss you quickly.” He purrs in a hush. She won’t fight him off. Never does. She drags him closer. She’s missed him all day.

 

He presses a firm kiss to her lips. Dragging his hands over her ass. Cupping her up to crush her into him. One thing that gets him going is how he can’t feel any hint of underwear over the shape of her ass. It feels smooth and pert. Almost like....

 

He grumbles a horny noise into their kiss. “ _Mmm_. You wearing something naughty for me, Kitten?” He asks in a husk. Voice thick with sex. He pictures a skimpy thong, maybe.

 

She beams at him. Bites her lip. She looks like she’s blushing. Twirling a fingertip over one button on his shirt.

 

She finds the bravery to raise her eyes to his. Cheeks pinks. Eyes darker than usual. Shaded ocean.

 

“I’m actually not wearing, _anything_ , for you.” She teases. Looking somehow innocent and promiscuous all at once.

 

His eyes are black fire. He squeezes her ass so hard, she squeaks. He kisses her. Bites at her lip.

 

“ _Oh_ , Kitten.” He growls with a grin when he pulls away. Grabbing her closer. She shushes him away upstairs. Before Flo comes out and hoses them down.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d I do? Tell it to my inbox if you like 💕


	41. Lost & Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I've never known another love_   
>  _Who looks at me the way you do_   
>  _And sees the light_   
>  _The dark_   
>  _The truth_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This beautiful song is called ‘Everything, Everything’ by the redoubtable and gorgeous Lianne La Havas. Can be found here; https://open.spotify.com/track/1Hzkg5CIiTviFi8w7I2lqY?si=BVyJTwnLThmMS8hD05Nn0g

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie likes seeing Kylo like this; if not relaxed, then something awfully close to it.

 

Or, _resembling_ it at least. When he’s all at ease and calm like this; she lets slip of the fact he’s a sociopath. Maybe he’s convincingly lying. Perhaps he’s actually feeling it. She’ll never know. She’s happy letting him be.

 

But she hopes anyway. Hopes he is happy. _Hopes prays dreams._ Then again. Maybe she was getting all sentimental. Sat there, with her full white wine glass brimming sherry-gold in the candlelight. Watching him laugh and smile with Todd.

 

She feels her cheeks blush, burning bright. Watches the rare sight of dimples crease his cheeks. The way his hair catches light. Somehow shimmering silver. The ends tipped with varying shades of walnut, rust and burnt ember. She can see where the dark black of his locks bleeds into brown. Candlelight flickers off cutlery when he moves his big hands.

 

A staccato voice pipes up to her left ear. “Put them moony-love eyes away Winslow. Save that til after to dinner and pass me some of that chicken...” Flo grins.

 

She’s brought back down to earth with embarrassed rosy cheeks and a smile. Handing Flo the platter of chicken. Sinking back into her, Anna, and Bobbi’s conversation about Thanksgiving.

 

Dinner was an ongoing success; the table groans with food. A huge serving of Flo’s Meatloaf. Platters of Evie’s roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Sautéed string beans. And the cakes - all three of them - are waiting fir dessert in the kitchen. All the friends who love and support Kylo and Evie are sat around her table, talking, laughing fondly. No one notices how some of the chairs are mismatched - wobbly too some of them. And how they’re all amazingly crammed into her tiny dining room. Cramped and knocking elbows there’s so many of them. The table is higgledy and there’s wildflowers picked fresh from her garden in mason jars.

 

Evie briefly considers, wondering how on Earth this can compare to Kylo’s usual habits of five star dining. Michelin kitchens. Flawless front of house. And he’s here perched on a wonky wooden chair like a giant stuffed into a Victorian dollhouse.

 

It feels homey. It feels natural to Kylo. Natural in a way he struggles to rationalise.

 

He tries to - but then gets so swept up in talking and eating and it just passes him by. He lets it. He... actually enjoys himself. And he doesn’t try to rationalise with that thought at all. He eats his way through three plates of his favourite food - classic meatloaf and potatoes like grandma used to make it.

 

He looks up and steals a glance at Evie, she’s laughing with Anna and Bobbi. Pouring more wine for them and he watches that rosebud smile crease up her beautiful cheeks. Let’s his eye linger lovingly for a second. Tears his gaze away to answer a question Arthur asked about his company. Evie almost swore she felt Kylo’s eyes on her. Made her heart do something insane and squirmy in her chest. They were stealing looks at each other over the table like two lovesick fools.

 

Only It didn’t feel very foolish at all.

 

Everyone’s happy tonight. And it pleases Evie to know she can count Kylo among that. Even if there’s sexual tension simmering under the surface of it all. Fuelled up by one too many glasses of wine and laughing with her friends.

 

That didn’t stop Kylo letting her know what would happen when they’re alone again later. When she’s putting some plates on the side to wash later. Kylo softly walks up behind her, body caging hers in the counter by the sink, brushing ever so lightly as he puts two used wine glasses in front of them.

 

She can feel his body. How his dark red Valentino shirt crinkles as he moves. His belt buckle brushed her hips. Presses her skirts. The heat of him, his spicy masculine citrus scent, makes her so woozy. Lightheaded.

 

If it wasn’t too presumptuous. She almost couldn’t wait for when everyone leaves. She’s having a wonderful time - but they’d have an even better time, just them two. She’s already aching for it. The foreplay had started when he left for work this morning. Now he’s already making her clench her thighs together. Savouring the friction that she knows she’ll get relief from- _later_.

 

For now it remains their dirty, hot, whispered, sharing-dark-loving-looks kind of secret. It’s a brushing touch and a skipped breath here and there. All dilated eyes and flushed pink-hot cheeks.

 

A teasing skim of a touch to her body. Her hip tingles and thrashes now because of it. She turns her head to catch the flicker of a smile tug dirty his lips. Then he’s gone. Back into the dining room with another bottle of wine to hand, and he hasn’t said a word - just smiles.

 

It still manages to get her flushing and panting for him.

 

They return to the crammed little dining room for Cake. Huge slabs of it that Flo carved up for everyone. Cherry pie and cool whip. And Flo gives Kylo the biggest piece. No one minds. He was the birthday boy after all.

 

One thing he hadn’t been expecting - was for there warm hearted, small town folk to like him so much. To take to him like he’s one of their own. All his life he’s felt like the quiet outcast who no one wanted to know. Or even go near. One look at him and everyone confirmed him dangerous.

 

He’d always felt like one of those hideous deformed creatures in old black and white horror flicks. The misshapen ugly-mean beast shunted out of society’s norms by all the crowds. He’s spent his life stood out, looking in on what other people have. Not in envy. Of course. He went out and made his millions, saw the world. Lived dirty rich and drove fine cars. But he never felt a sense of... _belonging_. Not until now. With the crazy beautiful small town accepting him into their ranks with open arms.

 

_Mainly_ because a sweet small beautiful writer had accepted him with open arms. Wide open arms.

 

Every day with Evie and he felt less and less like some deformed savage demon confined to the shadows. These people here don’t shudder and shrink away when he passes them on the street. They smile. They say good morning. They come up to chat with him because he’s familiar. _Wanted_.

 

And look at him now - inundated with friends, love and birthday gifts. Anna and Bobbi bought him a book on architecture. From Todd and Phoebe, a very nicely wrapped up in tissue, bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Flo helped with the cooking, yet she had Arthur still give him a set of monogrammed motif cuff-links. The silver KR entwined in a fancy elegant font.

 

He doesn’t want to be rude- he knew their money troubles were still hurting the dear old couple. But he can’t chide them for being generous. That’s who they are. Flo is like a second grandma to him. She seems to note the resigned look on his face as he opened the small red leather box they sat in. He huffed and shook his head, smiling.

 

“None of that, now sugar.” She points a bony finger at him and narrows her eyes. “I wanted to give you a lil something for all the help you’ve been givin us and you _will_ accept this as a token of our appreciation.” Flo says. Clutching doggedly to her wine glass. The other bony hand clutched on top of his on the table.

 

“Besides, my son works for a jewellery making firm, outta state. I had him knock these up for me for nothin’. All it cost me was some babysittin’ hours.” Flo beams. Putting his mind at rest.

 

“You shouldn’t have. Arthur. Flo. It’s too much. But I’m very grateful. _Thankyou_.” He says honestly. Evie hates how his expression looked the tiniest bit vulnerable as he spoke. Wary. His old instinct of mistrust raring up. The one he always fell back on. Because he had never booked fully into the habit of trusting anyone.

 

He likes that Flo has let him keep in the routine of helping fix stuff around her house. He now devoted an entire Thursday off to it. Every week. Blocked it out his diary. It was Flo’s day. The day to fix wonky shelves. Or help Arthur paint windows. Or to align the broken barn sliding door, when it came off the tracks. He was even helping them see to an extension out back of their house. They wanted to add on a little more space for their ever growing bunch of grandkids.

 

“I’ll still be expecting ya. Every Thursday.” Flo warns. “You don’t get off the hook from me _that_ easy...” She laughs. Making everyone titter cause everyone at the table knew the old spitfire wasn’t joking.

 

“I wouldn’t dare try. I still got that bathroom tap to fix.” Kylo smiles as he sips his own glass of red.

 

“Couple other things crept on the list too.” Arthur explains. Pouring more red for himself. Kylo declines any more. Had to be keeping a clear head for later on.

 

“Curious, that.” Kylo jokes with the man as they smile at the old little battle axe woman who kept them _both_ on their toes. Flo fluffs her hair, sipping Chardonnay and not looking the least bit affronted.

 

“I don’t just keep him around for his good looks honey.” She winks at her husband.

 

“Flo Carol-Ann Bernstein, you are a _sheer_ menace.” Evie laughs at her. Flo just looks mighty proud.

 

On instinct, Kylo reaches for Evie where she’s sat next to him. Softly strokes his thumb over the back of her hand. Where hers lay next to her plate of pie.

 

She smiles and grips his hand back. It was a loving little touch. She’s just sliding a great forkful of excellent sweet cherry pie with melting cool whip, in her mouth. Kylo looks across down at her and gives a look. Caressing her with his eyes. Her cheeks dimple and heat as she smiles. Everyone else was chatting and laughing.

 

Flo catches sight of their loving little touch of hands. She smiles at the love-struck pair. So _right_ for each other it seemed almost mad. They pair well. His big harsh and severe ways softened up like butter to her sweet simple goodness.

 

She was his calm port in the lively storm that was his wonderful night.

 

Because it was lovely- but he was unused to this much chatter and noise and nice. Nice nice _so_ nice. So much _. How ironic_ is it that it feels like he’s having too much of a good thing _,_ here, at his first ever birthday party.

 

More wine flows, as does more conversation. The candles flicker golden and low and the hour grows late. Evie gets coffee or after dinner night caps for those who want them. Flo and Kylo of course crack into some of the whiskey she bought him - all _three_ bottles of it. They eat more cake too. There was plenty of it to get through. Anna’s cake is the one that steals the show however - a masterpiece. A 12 layer German chocolate cake. Dark and bitter with sweet coco frosting. Kylo has seconds of that too. It blends well with the glass of red he’s enjoying.

 

People eventually peel away. Anna and Bobbi are the first. They had to go feed their cats before it got too late. They part with hugs and kisses all round. They’re followed by Phoebe and Todd. Who shakes Kylo’s hand and offers him and Evie all the tools and hardware on the house for the shop, or otherwise, if they ever need it for renovations and the like. Kylo likes them - they’re friendly warm people. Arthur and Flo stay a little while longer to sink more whiskey.

 

Flo manages to wrangle out some old photo albums of Evie as a baby - dug then out of the drawers upstairs in the guest room dresser. She sits with Kylo at the table and goes through it with him. Cooing at pictures of baby Evie. Of Win. And Annie. Kylo gets into it - he sees what kind of close knit bond the Bernstein’s and the Winslow’s had with each other.

 

They sip whiskey and smile fondly at pictures. Kylo’s adoring how much Evie looks like her mom. Flo insists she got every spec of goodness and beauty from her mother. Kylo agrees. The straight smile. The same thick wavy hair. The mesmerising baby blues. Eyes like cobalt-speckled robin eggs.

 

His eyes stuck on a picture of Annie with a young Evie in her arms. Her cherry smile he recognised as the same one now replicated in her grown daughter. The one he’s weak for. The one that he’d do anything to keep happy.

 

He’s mostly silent as they flick through faded memories and photos. Just reminds him he doesn’t have any of his own. Probably for the best. His is a childhood that didn’t need living twice. Or any sort of reminder of it. His mom may have some aged snaps of them as babies. But that’s about it - _he_ hopes that’s it.

 

He and Flo polish off their Glenlivet. Arthur jokes that he needs to get his “old bag of dusty elbows home” before she turned into a pumpkin. Flo tutts And smiles at the outrageous ribbings of her loving husband. He placates her with a friendly kiss on the cheek as he helps her stand from the low couch on her creaky knees. Flo threatens to clip his toes with her walking cane, the one she kept here in the hall umbrella stand.

 

“Have to catch me first, sweetie.” He jokes nicely with her. Kylo adores the sight of their japing and friendly gripes in their old age. He’d quickly come to see they were _the_ happiest married couple he’d ever had the pleasure to know - 54 years they’d been married. It’s almost devastating for someone like him to try and come to understand that.

 

Evie gives them both the greatest hug when they’re at the door. Thanking them both for helping out. Once again. Flo waves her off with a soused “ _pssh_ ” noise - not surprising at three glasses of wine and two whiskeys. How she was still standing Evie didn’t know. The small woman must have had an iron liver.

 

She’s then yanking her Winslow down for a hug. Doing the exact same to Kylo too. Not allowing them to resist.

 

It’s always so amusing to Evie, to see his gigantic body going to stoop to hug Flo. He holds her gently in his arms - like he’s hugging a wounded baby sparrow. Her bones felt too brittle and fragile under his big thick muscles and rough hewn hands. He felt like he didn’t know how to handle her - like he’d break her, or hurt something.

 

He never does. He never could. Flo may have looked frail as a delicate snowflake. But she was about as robust as a tank, that small fierce woman. A tank with very shabby knees anyway-

 

Flo gets swallowed up in his chest. Before he rises to his full height. She cups his cheek. The scarred one. Evie touching it so often now taught him not to flinch. Flo’s hand is no different. The touch is kind. And her palm so soft and wrinkled with age.

 

“Happy Birthday, sweetie. You deserve _so_ many happy returns. Hope you know that.” She says fondly. Looking at this big devastating man with warm silvery tears in her eyes. He smiles in gratitude back at her. She feels how his cheek creases up under her hand.

 

Something stabs into his calcified black heart. He thinks it might be love.

 

An old rekindling of affection that he remembered feeling for his Grandma - and now he feels it for Flo. She’s been too good to him. Too loving. It’s making his defences crumble. Evie battered them open and Flo just tore them away completely.

 

He’d given them power to hurt him. Given them his vulnerabilities. The ones he never dare let show. But they have them now. They have full possession of whatever slight modicum of affection he’s capable of.

 

“Thank you for everything, for tonight.” He says calmly. Her eyes crinkle with her smile.

 

“Who would do less for their favourite two grandkids?” She winks.

 

She turns to leave before she holds up a finger and turns back. “Don’t tell any of my babies I said that...” She warns. They laugh and mutter an ‘of course’. Stood on the chilly night porch, waving their goodbyes.

 

Evie pipes up before they leave. Giving them two boxes of old Christmas things Flo asked for the other week. She heads to the kitchen to grab them, and takes them out to the old folks car. Pops them on the backseat for them.

 

Kylo stays on the porch. He offered to carry for her, but of course she won’t let him - he still had many hours of his birthday left. He watches how the lanterns and carved pumpkins Evie had on the porch beamed their honey gold candle light. The pumpkins sneered glowing in the dark. Rusty paper brittle leaves scuttled all around her porch from the wind. He’ll sweep them up for her tomorrow, he thinks.

 

He watches her kiss another goodbye to Flo and Arthur as they get into their old 1979 butter yellow Buick Electra. Arthur’s pet project of an old clunker he proudly restored. The bumper glints silver off the house as the rectangular rear red lights grow fainter, swallowed up into the dark wood as they drive off. Evie latches the gate and quickly strides up the steps. Arms cold from the chilly night.

 

She kisses Kylo on the cheek as she slips by him. One hand pressing to his sternum as she leans up for a kiss. He’s holding the door for her. Shuts it when she’s inside. Back in the warm house. She gladly takes the time to unbuckle her heels and moans appreciatively as she slips them off her feet. Leaving them by her doormat.

 

He moves into the kitchen, skimming his hand across her waist as he goes, goes to grab his almost empty glass of wine. He does the same as her too. He won’t be needing these expensive Laboutin Derby’s on anymore. He kicks them off.

 

She’s back in the living room. Blankets strewn on the couch. Fire roaring. Room dark save for candles and a gauzy rosebud-shade soft lamp, stood on the dresser in the far corner. Moody dark and comfy.

 

Jasmine candles twinkle low on the coffee table. The ridiculously expensive sugary scented Diptyque ones he bought her home last week. Along with a bunch of paper wrapped Peonies. Just because he passed a florist window heading off site, and thought she’d like them. A little gift just to make her smile at the end of the day. Not knowing he could cause that smile, merely by just walking in the room.

 

The warm room now is scented of that sweet flower fragrance burning, along with a heady tang of crackling woodsmoke from the log fire roaring away in the burner in the hearth. To her? That’s the very smell that unfurls the meaning of autumn. Wet rain on golden leaves. A sharp acrid woodsmoke fire of burning logs. Warm cinnamon spice apple cider. That’s autumn in one inhale, to her.

 

To him, It’s quiet and cosy. Warmly comforting. Like every room is in her house. The party’s wound down. Now he’s got what he wants - just them alone. Completely each other’s at last.

 

_Oh_ the dinner party was exquisite - but _this_ was that perfect ache in his gut demanded.

 

He comes back in with his glass and hers. There’s a tiny slither left in each. His is a ruby slip of Pinot noir. Hers is a tiny dribble of pale blush rosé. She flops onto the arm chair by the fire. Knees pulled up folded to her right. Kneecaps warmed from the fire immediately to her right.

 

The amber fire makes her pink wispy dress shade a fierce peach. He looks at her sweet face. Chiaroscuro in fire and dark. Eyes glittering dark navy blue in the candle light. He hands her, her glass. She smiles a Thankyou up at him. He stays towering over her for a second. Stroking her cheek with his thumb. Feeling her warm skin. The zygomatic pushing up under her skin to his hand.

 

“Enjoyment of this birthday?” She smiles softly. “On a scale of one to ten?” She enquires. Holding the wrist of the hand that’s on her cheek. Grazing his folded knuckle over her face. She turns and kisses that hand. Leaning to him.

 

Always leaning in. Never pushing away. He’s starting to believe she never will. _  
_

 

_Never never ever._

_“_ Twenty _.”_ He smiles succinctly. Face kind and soft gazing at her. She smiles wider. He tips back the last of his wine and stands the glass on the table. Glass stained ruby-scarlet. He sinks to a crouch in front of her. His knees click.

 

She stands her glass down too. On the end table beside her. A feeling she’d need both hands to counter that hunger in his eyes.

 

Even when he’s crouched down like this, he’s still level height with her sat on this chair. His hands know what they want. He strokes up her calves. Rucking up her pretty skirts over smooth legs. He’s shuffling her forwards on the chair. Tugging her close gently.

 

Getting her knees either side of him. The look in her eyes is a question, a question she already knows the answer too.

 

“Now. I wanna enjoy my present, _unwrapped_...” He smiles proud. With the fire glinting amber off his dark eyes. His hands slip under her hem and he pushes it up to her waist.

 

“I bet this pussy is real nice and wet for me by now.” He says real low. His hand slips between her legs as his other parts them. Pressing her thighs wide. His fingers find all her wetness. She’s dripping. Breath hitching.

 

He wonders how her skirts weren’t translucent with her pussy slick by now. He can feel it everywhere. On the insides of her thighs. Stuck on the front of her dress too. It almost drooled to her knees. He chuckles. Sharp teeth skimming her skin as he kisses her kneecap.

 

The earlier touches kept his pussy pouring for him all through dinner. He loves that.

 

“I don’t think you could get any slicker baby.” He huffs in pride. Mouthing sucking her thigh. Teasing love bites on her skin. Tasting her pussy already. Taste of her slipping down her legs.

 

He hums a moan of enjoyment. Tucking her ass into his hands through the dress, the skirts cushioning his forehead. He kisses sweet and tender over her scrunched up tummy. One on her abdomen too. Plush lips sinking gently into her skin.

 

He then stoops and lowers his mouth to the juncture of her thighs. Drinking in her juicy pussy. _His_ gorgeous juicy cunt that couldn’t be more perfect. And _oh_ she was so wet for him now. Sat there all night with no panties on just planning for this moment.

 

He slings those legs over his shoulders as he licks up into her. Likes how her hips move for him. They move toward him for more, too. Every part of her does. He drags her closer. Shoving right in. Burying his face right between her legs.

 

Those lips were bestowed on his handsome face for a lot more divine purpose than kissing. He swirled his tongue. Sucked filthy squelching wet kisses to her clit. Spit and wet and her running sweet over his lips. He licks them. Keeps on licking them. Getting her taste everywhere. She coats his tongue and he’s licking big fat stripes up her pussy like it’s his personal duty.

 

It’s tender. And calm and good. Sososo _good_.

 

His pattern was sinfully good too. Tongue dripping down her lips. Parting them. Licking up and up and all around. She sloshes down his chin. Squirms. Breathy moans of his name. Her cute pink dress sliding off one shoulder. His eyes dart up past her quivering thighs and eats up the way the dress couldn’t conceal how her nipples puckered stiff beyond the fabric.

 

_She really had gone full commando under that dress..._

 

“Those pretty tits are going in my mouth next, Kitten.” He croons with a growl into her thighs as he fucks his tongue into her. He said it for encouragement. More his than hers. When he did suck and tug her nipples with his teeth, he almost took half her breast into his big mouth. But something told her he thoroughly approves of that fact.

 

He takes a second to pull back. Body twisting. He kisses her pussy all over with wet mouthed kisses as he works off his shirt. It rustles and crinkles as he launches it away into the room behind him. He doesn’t care where. It was a $1000 Valentino shirt and he couldn’t care less. He’s not leaving that pussy weeping desperate for long. He crawls back.

 

He’s now caressing her clit and lapping her up. He swallowed her down and groaned when he did. _Nothing_ on earth tastes better than her. Hands seizing her hips. Tucking under her dress. Pulling her body down to his tongue. Tugging one nipple ring with a free hand as he licks her. Sighing in bliss, his eyes slip closed too.

 

 

 

 

The sight of him like this, makes such a pang of arousal ripple through her she has to fist the arms of the chair in a vice grip.

 

He swallows her down again. And groans when he does. Continuing that pattern. Brushing his face side to side. Slanting against every thrumming-alive nerve in her pussy. Nose rubbing her clit. Tongue curled deep in her pink slippery hot walls.

 

She’s whimpering his name. Begging to cum. Head thrown back. Neck glimmering sweat. Rosy pink skin. Voice hoarse. _Delicious_. Her stomach is roiling with that curling flickering bunch of muscles that tense up just before it shatters free. She’s desperate. Knees clamping his back. Thrusting her legs up into his back. Rocking him.

 

He cups her ass and lifts her right up. Face prodding all of her. She yelps out when he finds her clit and suckles it to kingdom come. Suckles her down til she cums too. Thighs shaking. Fisting his hair as he eats her viciously through her orgasm.

 

She couldn’t move - nothing could. She’s so tense. Strung out. Her throat closed up. Heart pumped strong and hot, pulsing blood through her body even though it felt like she’s dying. It all rushes out of her. She sobs and sobs and cries through it.

 

Wetness. Breath. Ecstasy. All of it floods out of her. 

 

It pummels her clean of energy. Sucking up all her senses just like the way he’s now sucking her messy pussy clean.

 

Humming in content as his tongue plunged in her spent cunt and devours everything he finds. She’s sagged and spent. Clutching his hair so hard he’s sure she’ll pull some strands out if she carries on.

 

Her thighs twitch as he still sucks and loves on her with his mouth. Modest penetration of his tongue making her sigh in too much. Sucking sounds squishing in the air. He breaks off her with a wet pop and a hum of pleasure. Smacking his lips as he swallows again.

 

She’s on a cloud. Just purely floating, head swimming in a sea of bliss with pleasure. Pussy pulsing. All there is, is them. Him on his knees for her. Racing over her spent body. Her, flopped back on that chair like a limp statue.

 

He likes how her fingers unclench from the velvet arms of the chair. He can see her nail indents pinched into the fabric in half moon crescents. She sits up and he wastes no time. He rises up and takes her mouth. She meets him eagerly. Not minding one bit how his lips are wet hot and taste of her. Slippery slick. It just means their mouths slide together all the easier.

 

She scrabbles for his shoulders. Tugging pulling wenching her nails into his hot skinned shoulders. Nails scorching slight pain in his skin. It makes him growl. They kiss with hunger like it’s the last time they ever will. His hands slip for her back. Crushing them together. She grips his hair. Wraps her knees into him. He cups her ass and kneads it. So wet, her slick slid right down her ass, staining the seat.

 

He pulls her up. Kissing her tenderly. But his hands work for her zipper too. She holds his head and smooches him right back. Tongues slipping onto the others. She sighs into his mouth as he undoes the zipper and fists the dress in his hands to get her naked. He pulls it down. Her breasts spring free, bouncing a little when he tugs the fabric away. It slips, catching on her hips. But he urges it off. Getting her naked. Her stiff little nipples pointing hard into his chest.

 

On instinct, his hands go to grip her soft round ass. Pulling her close, which turns out to be beneficial as he fingers grapple for his belt and fly. Unzipping it, pushing trousers down his hips, falling heavy to the floor in a crumpled pile that’ll ruin the smooth pressed things. Again, he doesn’t care. He ravaged her mouth as her coy hands found his cock through his underwear. Stroking him made a growl tumble through his chest and up into his throat.

 

He encourages her on. Has to get that pretty little hand wrapped around him. He catches her wrist as his free hand shucks his underwear briefs down his hips. Brings her wrist to his length and gets her rubbing it for him. Hand curled around his hot skin. She whimpers and he nibbles her lips.

 

“If you’re gonna touch me, Kitten. Touch me properly...” He coo’s in a smirk against her mouth. Sinking his own two fingers into her sloppy wet cunt. “Like I do to you...” He husks.

 

“Kylo-“ She begs. “I need you inside me..” She whines, mouth gaping and eyes fluttering shut when he pushes fingers right in to ram and flick against her g-spot. The noises her pussy makes, makes his grow harder, twitching under her palm as she tugs him.

 

“On the floor.” He sucks a tongues and all kiss into her mouth. Plump lips biting hers red. His eyes glimmer. As does his chin. Wet where they’ve been kissing. Wet still from where he was between her thighs.

 

“ _Here?”_ She asks with an uncertain smile. He hoists her up. Cock slicking hard against her pussy. It catches her clit and she gasps.

 

Wraps her legs around him and drops them both gradually to the floor. Sinking, then on his knees, then crushing her bare back to the thick rug. Splaying her out right by the fire. Naked bodies tainted Amber. Both sheeted sticky in sweat from the heat.

 

“Here...” He grunts in answer against her lips. Rutting his big body into hers. Crushing her. Looming over her cause he’s just so broad and she’s so slight under him. _But god, does she look good._

 

All flushed chest and tits where he’s been eating her out. Lips rosy from biting kisses. Nipples hard. Neck assaulted with bruised memories of his teeth. Hair wild. Eyes feral blue for him. So soaked up with love and emotion it chokes him.

 

She kills him every time she looks at him like that. All fucking pretty and in love and way too good for him.

 

He leans up and sucks on her nipples. Almost takes one breast entirely into his rough mouth. Scraped her softness with his teeth. Groans as he suckles her. Tastes notes of perfume on her skin that’s beating heat out where she’s all flushed. She digs her hands into his hair again. Scraping his scalp with her nails.

 

She’s throwing her head back. Sighing his name. Hair fanned out on the rug. Their hips rub together. Friction against each other’s needy bodies. He bites her nipple, then releases onto to tug on the other with his teeth. She’s arching her back into him. Sweat slicked bodies pressing together.

 

Her nails rake his hair, and down his back. Slipping on his burning skin. She’s scratching his neck too. Leaving marks. Grabbing onto any part of him she can dig her nails into.

 

“I’ve been wanting to get you on your back all night, baby.” He grunts. Grinding his hard cock down on her. Blood singing through his veins with the pain of her nails stinging him.

 

“Knowing you’re sat there all naked under that dress. Ready for me. Ready for _this_...” He rasps in emphasis.

 

Unable to take any more, he takes himself to hand, slicks his fat self against her pussy, before sinking slowly into her. Pistoning his hips slowly into her. Letting her feet the long _long_ drag of him. Filling her up. Right up. Always felt like he pushed up into her throat with each thrust.

 

And that first pounding thrust is always the _best_. Finds every nerve and makes her flutter. Sparking pleasure entirely through her lower body. Her nails dig and her chest arches up as she groans when he shoves his cock into her real deep. Low and slow.

 

He didn’t just hit all those magic spots with his long curved length. He caressed them. _Slowly_.

 

Torture, kind of slow.

 

The kind that makes her eyes flutter back in her head in sheer, toe curling, mind numbing bliss. Her whole world tapers down to the way he moves inside her. Cunt squeezing him so tight he had to curse.

 

“Fuck. I’m gonna fill you up so damn good.” He moans in a promise. Panting. Taking his hand and placing it over her lower belly. Pleasure humming down in his very bones.

 

He drags, catching on them to make her help real loud. She curls herself around him. One heel clawing into his ass in desperation. Feeling sweat slip down his back where he’s thrusting gently into her. Muscles clenching. Bunching. Veins and corded tendons looking ready to rip out his skin.

 

He breaches the last inch of being fully seated inside her. She groans. Cries out for him. Honest-to-god tears pricked at her eyes. _Too_ good. This is _always_ too good.

 

He always felt too big. Always made her panic a little. He always soothes and shushes her with a grin. Making her feel how her pussy stretches around him. How she swallows him right up. They’ve fucked so many times - and in all those times she always manages to take him deep.

 

_His obedient little kitten_.

 

He thrusts real slow, anchoring his hands to her waist, trying not to be too brash with thrusts and give her rug burn on her back.

 

He moves hair off her sticky forehead. Sinking low to kiss her again. Panting into her mouth as he fucks her slow and nice. Tender.

 

They’ve been doing this for enough time now for him to know where all those spots live inside her that get her squirting and yelping his name when she cums. Milking her dry. And he’s already determined to get a couple out of her in one sitting tonight. The proverbial bit between his teeth, he went hunting for it. Chasing it down.

 

When she squeaks as he grinds his hips. Struggling for breath he knows he’s found it. He ups the anti. Smiling a sharp white smile into her lips. He kisses her. Fucks her. All to love on that tender spot. And gets two fingers spurring a slow circle on her that clit. Rubbing real gentle and slow.

 

She’s clawing into him like a feral cat. He kisses her neck when she groans and begs. Nips at her collarbone.

 

“ _Oh_ Kylo. There, oh my god, please _just_ -oh-right there...” She sighs. Desperation cloying up her throat. Pure babble spilling out her mouth.

 

She shifts her hips. He smiles, pants out a chuckle that she’s riding his thrusts to try and help reach the spot that plucks her apart. Sharp jolts of pleasure bursting through her. Making her tremble in his arms. Keeping steady movements to hit that spot over and over until she’s sobbing again. Hiccuping breath and his name.

 

He likes doing it rough from behind. Loves how she takes his pounding. _Loves_ it absolutely. But he doesn’t want that tonight. Tonight he wants to look on that pretty pretty face as they fall apart. He’s rolling his hips, feeling with two fingers on her clit how her wetness pours out from her.

 

This is the best part. Hearing her curse with the way they fuck. He bites down her lower lip and she’s gasping. Dripping sweat. Rubbing together. She starts to gasp. Hand wrenching in his hair.

 

She tries to stutter out warning, but the speech doesn’t make it past her teeth. She arches and moans real loud. Body jerking as he thrusts harder. She pants, face all crumpled in bliss. He sucks deep shapes on her neck. Licking up her sweat as he feels a flood of her coat his dick when she cums.

 

Its gushing out of her. Stars and galaxies burst like static behind her closed eyelids. She’s wailing for him. He’s fucking her gently, pulling her through to the other side. Starting to lose it when she clamps down so good on him. Squeezing his cock so tight. He can hardly bear to move for how good it feels.

 

He ruts deeper, hips hotting deeper off the feeling how she’s falling apart under him. He’s gonna make her cum and cum, and cum even more on his cock. This can be his _biggest_ birthday present of all from her.

 

He gave her clit a break for two seconds before. Not now. He’s right back there with his thumb, feeling how her fluids and juices drop from her. Squirting down him and dribbling out down onto the rug below their bodies. They’re fucking in a damp patch now. Just how he likes it. Soaking so obscenely into the rug that he’ll probably need to replace it for her. 

 

He rams in deep suddenly. Thighs tensing, Evie can feel them quiver as he moves. His spare hand goes to her sticky sternum. Dragging down a breast, smearing around her thick layer of sweat. He watches his hand skim her body as he wraps her thighs around his hips with his free hand. Abandoning rubbing her clit only briefly.

 

“Lie right there baby. You don’t have to move. Lie right there for me...” he whispers. Coming low to kiss her neck. “ _God_ , you’re so fucking pretty kitten. You’re too damn good to me.” He groans. Rubbing his face into her neck. Nose pressing her kicking heartbeat.

 

She can’t say much to that. She might say she loves him. And she doesn’t want to overwhelm him with that. She strokes his hair and kisses him back. Nearly desperate as he continues his rocking into her. Sawing his hips earnestly.

 

He was hoping to make her cum endlessly again. Wring her dry. Until she orgasms and twitches and cums in great gushing swells. Like a loud crescendo in harmony with his own pleasure. He didn’t have the strength to hold off much longer.

 

His back feels raw. Scratches stinging in a way that leads him to suspect she’s raked through skin. Making him bleed a little. He smiles at that. Pressing his face to hers to give her a kiss. A gross sweaty kiss. She feels sweat from his upper lip drip to hers. She curls up into him for more.

 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me one of these days. This fucking pussy. Or your fucking beautiful smile..” He groans against her. Smirking.

 

She crosses her arms over his shoulders. Her eyes twinkle up at him. He steadies one hand flat on the rug by her shoulder for leverage as he thrusts low and deep. Climax starting to coil up all his muscles.

 

“ _Well_ , we can’t have that...” She gasps when he circles his hips some magic way that makes her eyes roll back in her head like loose blue marbles. She moans his name again. “Oh, Kylo.”

 

His thumb finds her clit again. He was determined after all.

 

“Cum for me Kitten. Cum right on my cock.” He asks tenderly. And she does.

 

He’s still rolling hips. Fucking. Thrusting. Driving her insane. She’s clamping and fluttering down around him so much he digs his fingers to claw into her rug. He shivers, bites her neck, gets her collarbone clamped between his teeth. He grunts loud as he cums. Muffled a bite onto her skin. Teeth deep in her skin. Cock deep in her as he pulses and twitches his load into her. Fucking it deep as it’ll go. Making her keep it. 

 

There was no room for anything else - not even thought. Not even awareness. They’re just entwined in pleasure and thoroughly blissed out. He filled her the same way she filled up and stole his every thought.

 

They spilled together in crushing moans, sagging bodies. Sweat. Skin. Panting. Breathlessness too. Tangled limbs crumpling to the rug. Amber tinted skin trembling in the fires heat.

 

It’s just noise. All rubbish until their heads swim back to reality. Back to now. Back to the noise of that fire crackling away. Puffing breath. The sounds of night and the woods outside.

 

Kylo leans up over her and kisses away the tears that sparkle like tiny amber diamonds in the firelight. He reaches up and absorbs one onto the skin of his thumb. Panting gently.

 

“Didn’t hurt you did I Kitten?” He frets. He never fretted about anyone. But her? She’s worth every worry.

 

She shakes her head. Eyes sleepier than he’d husky voice. “You never hurt me.” She sighs.

 

She looks half dead. Eyes lidded. Laying there like a siren sunning herself on the rocks off some sun drenched Grecian aisle. Wet from the tepid salty ocean. - when all she is really is utterly spent and slicked sweat from being fucked by her big gorgeous man, in front of her blazing fireplace.

 

“I see. Just fucked you real good _huh?”_ He smirks. Leaning over her on his elbows. Big strong trunks of arms caging her to the floor. He strokes the back of her shoulder with two fingers.

 

She was starting to get clammy cool already. He drags the stitched quilt off the settee and brings it around them both. Curling her towards the fire. Still inside her as he does. He only slips his softening self out when he slides behind her, tucking them together. One big sweaty heap.

 

He cushions his nose and mouth on her neck. Taking her tits in his big hands. Growling, plucking kisses onto her shoulders.

 

“You know that Birthday rating?” He hums. Sucking a kiss on her shoulder. Nuzzling it with his warm nose.

 

“Mmhmm?” She sighs. Caressing his damp raven hair. Arm folded up to stroke his long locks.

 

“It just shot up to a hundred...” He smiles. She chuckles. Moving over to bury her front in his big chest. His pecs pressed tight, bunching together where he’s on his side.

 

Now she is too. Face to face. Her hands tucked under her face. Back of her hair all messy where it met with friction on the rug. She lets the quilt drape just below her tits. Of course he notices that.

 

She smiles at him. Watches his deep black eyes glitter red off the fire. Amber and gold sheening off his eyes and tattooed skin.

 

He had only twelve minutes of his birthday remaining. Judging by the old wooden carriage clock on the mantel.

 

“Any other birthday wishes I can fulfill in the remaining minutes?” She seeks. Fully expecting the answer to be dirty.

 

“Yeah.” He says. Head propped on one elbow. “You can kiss me until my birthdays over.”

 

She shuffled closer. “I’ll have to stop the _second_ after midnight.” She teases.

 

He narrows his eyes. Sinks a grip into her ass. “You finish kissing me when I fucking _say so.”_ He promises.

 

And she does - many many minutes after midnight.

 

 

~

 

 

Across town, far away, up in the heavens. Or to be more exact, in the suites up on the very top floors of the Regis Hotel. A party was in full swing. The pool is heaving with people. Place thumping with noise and music. Writhing with bodies too.

 

Anything goes - at Ben Solo’s party. He walked through to the kitchen earlier to get another bottle of champagne. The stuff he bought in the vain hope Kitten would come.

 

There’s people doing coke off the island. Couples having no shame of fucking fully naked on the couches. In plain view of the pool terrace. People are naked in the pool. Drinking. Dancing. Probably fucking out there too. On the loungers or in the water.

 

Men and women. Women on women. Men on men. All of it. It doesn’t shock him. Nothing does. Already tonight he’s been sucked off twice. Fucked two guys. And then one girl, who ate someone else out as he fucked her from behind. Like his own personal porn video.

 

It doesn’t even feel fun anymore. Even when he cums. It’s not even good. It’s terrible matter of fact. So he stumbles put the bedroom and picks someone else to fuck. Chasing after that little secretive pang of pleasure.

 

He does everything. Fucks hard. Slow. Rough. Fast. Doesn’t even slow down when his partner bitched about him being too rough. Tearing their hair extensions. Or bruising their skin when they had a shoot tomorrow. He slams them to the bed, hand over their mouth, presses their stupid cosmetically filled lips to the pillow.

 

He fucks the way _he_ needs too. Thinking that if they could just _shutupshutup,_ then he’d get it. And still, that little glimmer of satisfaction doesn’t come.

 

He can’t hide from it. This doesn’t thrill him anymore. This lifestyle most would kill to have. The partying. The drink. It’s all empty. It’s like he’s numb. Unfeeling for all this sensory overload. All this pleasure. Drink. Liquor. Drugs.

 

It’s like feeding a void. It never fills up. Just keeps slipping down down and down- until he loses it.

 

He’s off his head. Has been even since he woke up that morning. Stumbled right out of bed, and into a whiskey bottle. Then some blow. Then champagne, then liquor, then some weed, some more liquor, another joint, then-

 

 

Then everything. 

 

He tries fucking everything. He keeps taking everything. Everyone. All. And then he needs more. Not satisfied. Keeps trying to blot it out. This miserable fucking day. For once, it matches his miserable fucking mood.

 

He’s so good at guzzling down the bad things that hurt him. Trying to fill the gaping festering holes in his life.

 

None of it even registers. Not even now. He’s in the bedroom. He has two bleach blonde girls who model for Versace giggling and making out over his cock. Another one sucking his earlobe and teasing her raking sharp nails over his nipples. Worrying it with the acrylic talon. Saying it’s her turn next on his dick. The ones knelt on the floor between his legs are both looking up at him with baby blue eyes. Doe eyes as they suck his dick.

 

He’s not even in the room.

 

He wants to leave. Wants to go home- wants some silence. Doesn’t want to watch all these people live it up whilst it feel likes he’s sinking into quicksand.

 

Just sat there, legs spread wide on the mussed super king bed. In his blue silk robe. The plastic gold crown sat crooked on his head. His boxers he’s amazed he still had on, are pushed to his calves. He feels absolutely nothing. He’s hard, for sure. But it doesn’t feel good. He’s been popping viagra all night, too.

 

Words slur out his mouth. “Just-just...” he tries to say. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. He doesn’t even register when he finally spends between their faces. He winces. Dripping his orgasm over both of them. They smile in delight. The other tries to grab for his dick but he’s already standing.

 

He’s off to bed, when did he stand up? He’s at the balcony door. Cigarettes and phone in his hand? Where’d they come from all of a sudden?

 

He’s stumbling to the terrace. He needs air. He needs to feel something. He slips his boxers back up his hips. Pushes the glass door until it gives. He slams it after him. Letting them know he didn’t want company. Not even when one of them calls that he could fuck her on the balcony if he wanted.

 

He shuts them out. Would probably be walking back in on their threesome in a few minutes. He doesn’t give a shit. Cool air envelopes him. He takes the crown  off and crushes it to tacky gold splinters in his hands. Sharp plastic might have cut him. He doesn’t know- doesn’t care even if it does.

 

It’s not the same without Kylo. He turns his head to the left. Seeing the pool terrace adjacent to him. Party in full swing. Even without him. The night sky, it’s all blurred up with yellow lights from skyscrapers surrounding them that blot his eyes, stabbing and gouging them out like ten thousand shining blazing suns. He screws his eyes shut. The music pumps hard at his brain. Rattling it loose.

 

He just about manages to light a cigarette.

 

Hands shaky. Head dry and woozy. He licks his lips, sucks on the filter. Manages to light it and breathes it all in. Smoking haze in his lungs to match the smoking haze and cool night around him. And now he’s cold too. Had he come outside? Oh yeah. He had. Stood there in fucking autumn wearing nothing but a fucking silky robe and boxers. It flutters and snaps on the frigid breeze.

 

He leans over the glass balcony railing. His feet are chilled numb already. Cig hanging limply from his fingers. He pats his hip. His thigh. Finds his phone - eventually - dragging down his pocket. Flips it out and blinks at the screen.

 

- _nothing_.

 

Nothing from Evie. Nothing from Kylo. He’s bombarded the both of them with texts. Pictures. Calls. And nothing. Envy and sadness battle it out in his chest. Seeing what would crush him first.

 

Right now, his brother was probably in bed with his cute perfect little librarian. Probably threw him a fucking party. Made him a damn cake too. Made him feel special on this day that they both dreaded worse than hell itself.

 

Something hits him. Figuratively - not literally. _He could’ve had that._ _He_ _could’ve_ _had_ _someone who cares_ _._ _Who loves_ _._ His brain is roaring at him. Screaming. And he listens to it for the first time this evening- he listens real hard.

 

“ _This is all it’ll ever fucking be, idiot”_ It yells at his intoxicated self.

 

“ _You couldn’t help fucking up the one piece of perfection you had. You wasted it. Threw it away. And this is all you’ll ever get unless you change.”_ _  
_

Quite simply - _this_ wasn’t it.

 

Now he’s had the real thing. This isn’t enough anymore. This cheap, tawdry waste of time. It hit him upside the head like a damn atomic bomb.

 

He unlocks his phone, almost dropping it a couple times. Finds the contact with extremely blurred eyes and a nonexistent head. Wasted and gone on drugs. Burnt out. Hazy as fuck.

 

He puts it to his ear. Watches the traffic blade below. Too fucking loud. It’s way too fucking loud and bright in this city. He cowers over the balcony. Willing them to pick up.

 

The line connects. There’s a second of muffled breathing before a murmuring sleepy voice answers.

 

“Hello?” They ask. They hadn’t saved his number. Tomorrow that thought will stab through his heart. Tonight he lets its significance swim away.

 

“I-It’s me.” He introduces slowly. Choking on his own tongue. What a fucking joke that was. He thinks. Introducing himself like that. He rubs his forehead. Ash from the cig flutters and arcs on the air like confetti.

 

There’s no reply. Just terse breathing. He’d woken them. He can hear their bedsheets shuffling. Rumpling. He forgot, they liked their early night routine. Sticker for it.

 

“What do you want? It’s two in the morning?” They tersely grunt. Voice breathy and annoyed.

 

_Fuck_ if Ben was supposed to know that. Didn’t know what time it was. Didn’t even know where his head was. Or his body. All he knows is that he needs this- needs them.

 

“I think I. Well. _No!_ I _know_ , I fucking miss you.” He chokes out slowly. Chewing on his words as he says them.

 

Hux sighed down the other end of the phone.

 

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Desires? Feelings? Please share with the group 💕


	42. Four Letter Feelings & Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna wave this around here again some more; https://open.spotify.com/user/libbyvioletturner/playlist/3D35N77ff39RCo4kwb3Wah?si=3ZWiBm5GRzC--Mr-5mLXVQ

 

 

 

 

The shop opened two days before Halloween.

 

The opening was as big a shindig as Evie could rustle up. The grand unveiling of Winslow & Stone Books was on one of those earnestly, stiff-cold Saturday mornings. The kind of cold that spikes at lungs to breathe it in. The kind that turns hot breath into silvery wisps in the air. Crystal white frosted leaves and stiff grass crunch under booted feet. That kind of a morning.

 

The trees are all maple, rust, gold and scarlet now. Autumn is happening in full affect. When she gets up, from a sleepless night at dawn, a wispy fog is crawling along the bottom of the trees in the wood. She’s actually nervous as she showers and dresses before it even gets fully light outside. The opening didn’t start until ten. But she’s bright and ready and pulsing with nerves at half six. She’s still fussing long after dawn breaks.

 

Her tummy is already hopping in excitement and anticipation. Stood at her dresser, make up on, scrutinising her appearance for the 140th time. In odes to the spooky season, she opts for a Wednesday Adams looking black dress. Black light wool, a line swishy skirts, with a white lace Peter-pan collar. Tights and velvet black ankle boots.

 

She tugs on a big-granny-style oversized terracotta red cardigan. To go with the colours of the season. She’s doing her hair. Heaving sighs at it’s plain wavy nature. Fretting. Putting on her thin leather strap black vintage watch.

 

She’s got granny’s locket around her neck - Kylo had the chain fixed for her. He also understands that today is one of the days she won’t be wearing his Harry Winston pendant that lived permanently on her neck. Today is a day of remembrance and memory for her. And she’s got Gran’s charm bracelet on again. Hanging off her like a silver talisman for love and luck. And support. Made her feel like they were here, Mum, and Gran. Clutching onto her hand and squeezing it tight. When she needed bolstering with a smile.

 

She looks to the faded colour family photo of them all on her dresser. ‘ _Wish me luck. And I hope I do you both proud.’_ She thinks. She strokes a thumb over the faded picture. Thinking how unfair it was. Two of the most animated people she’s ever known. And here they’re all still and stiff smiles behind a pane of glass. That shouldn’t have been the way it was. They should’ve been here for this - alive, alive with their warmth and their smiles and their love. _So_ much love.

 

So much love lost.

 

Dull sadness and worries run around her head like tumbling rapids. What if no one comes? What if she sells only two books today? What if it’s empty all day?

 

_What if she fails at this life-long fantasy before it even gets started?_

She’d wanted this for _so_ long. This back burner dream that she’s dragged into reality. Crossed days off her calendar. Prayed for its arrival. Anticipated it. Worked hard. Worked her fingers bloody to the bone to get everything ready for this day. And now its here. And she’s dreading it. She hardly slept last night for worrying about it. Barely slept a wink.

 

She’s feels she’s starting to spiral into irrational panic. _  
_

Luckily, a big hulking man is there to press a kiss to her temple in a way that always soothes her overthinking head. Kylo was like a big tatted seismograph for her worry. He could sense it from miles off. And he’ll always calm her the few ways he knows how. With soft true encouragement. _  
_

A big hand comes from behind. Sneaky in its attack. Floorboards creak. Mites of nothing twirl in the shaft of sunlight that’s just peeking dawn through the lacy curtains. He cradles her hip lovingly. Stooping low to press his chest to the expanse of her back. Aftershave and clean cotton from his suit shifts on the air over her. His head presses to the side of hers.

 

“It’ll be fine, Kitten. They love you to pieces. They’re gonna love this place. They’ll love it because it’s _you_.” He promises resolutely. Another kiss levelled down onto her lavender smelling hair.

 

She bites her lip and looks worried in the mirror. Expression all pinched and anxious. “I hope so.” She remarks softly.

 

“I know so.” He presses firmly.

 

He took the morning off to be there for the opening. He’s wearing his fine navy Brioni suit. White shirt. Makes him look ridiculously clean cut and handsome. He’s such a good dresser she sometimes wonders that he puts her to shame when she stands next to him.

 

Her cheeks pink. She takes a deep breath and nods. She’s organised a whole bevy of things to help with the opening. Balloons to string up outside. And some to hand out too. Bookshop name emblazoned on cotton tote bags - one free with every purchase for today only. She’ll have a cotton candy stall out front. For the kids of course. And the hot cider stall too for the adults, to draw a crowd. She hopes it will.

 

She feels sick as they climb into Kylo’s car to drive on into town.

 

She looks pale. Too pale. All bundled up in her long cardigan and gold scarf. And her little rusty-suede satchel linked over her dress. Hair caught in a golden and grey flowery scarf. She’s chewing her lip and fidgeting the whole way there. He lays a hand on her knee. They turn onto Main Street. Cruising the Aston slowly to a purr along the balustrade of golden trees. She’s chewing her lip enough to break skin.

 

When they slow to a stop opposite the shop. She had to blink a few times at the sight.

 

Crowds upon crowds of people are stood outside, already waiting and it was only half nine. She sees both stalls are already churning out sales. Cider and soft pretzels, and cotton candy for a few kids. Even if it was a little early for pure spun sugar just yet.

 

An amused laugh trips out her lips. She’s stunned. Hand-over-her-heart-shocked. Kylo smirks a little at the sight. He puts the car in park and sits there all smug and suave. In his dark suit and overcoat with his dark eyes glittering. She’d been nervously wringing her hands around the store door keys. A big navy velvety ribbon tied in a bow, coming off the gold set of keys.

 

He squeezes a hand around hers. “Guess that flyer campaign of yours paid off huh?” He smirks.

 

She’d been handing out flyers for a month. Every business in town. Houses. Shops. Everything. Every letterbox in town she stuffed one in. Even in neighbouring towns. She left stacks in markets. On telephone poles. Community bulletin boards. Churches. Town halls. Other businesses too. It was amazing to think her only competition in the near area, was a rare books emporium three towns over. And even then, she’d known the owner through Flo (naturally) and Evie was then able to broker a deal that they’d help each other if customers came to one looking for a book that the other had.

 

Everyone’s here. Flo and Arthur of course - front and centre. All their kids too. And their grandkids. Almost a full town turnout. Guys from the Bakery. Todd with Phoebe in tow. Anna and Bobbi. Anna clutching an iced cake in the shape of a stack of books. Every biddy from Flo’s book club turned up too - most likely to see Kylo though she speculates. Every friendly face she knows and loves is here. And Kylo was right. They were here because they loved her. And they’ve come to show their support for her business too.

 

It chokes her up. She clambers out the Aston in a daze. Shutting the door and feeling so overwhelmed as she crosses the road. Flo is of course the first to call out to her.

 

“Come and get these doors open sweetie. We all want a peek inside...” She winks. They all part for Evie to move to the door. Giving hellos and hugs. Laying plenty of love and encouragement on her.

 

Kylo’s hanging back. Letting her have this moment. He talks to Connie, Ethel and Dorothy as he slowly strides to the pavement. He was quickly becoming known as the ‘ _handsome handy man.’_ around these parts. All because he fixed Ethel’s leaky porch. And Connie’s squeaky screen door. It was no big deal. Flo had brought it up. He’d been happy to do it. As usual, his payment was in food and beer. Evie warns him he’ll be getting a while tonne of knitted jumpers at Christmas - one from every grateful Grandma in town.

 

He watches her unlock the doors. Hands in his coat pockets. Stood with his legs spread wide. Stance confident and brimming with pride of her. Smiling as everyone pours onto the store she poured her heart and soul into.

 

She spent days getting it looking good. Organising every section and shelf. It was stuffed with antique furniture. Dressers and side tables. She wanted it to look homey and cosy. She’s even got a real fireplace working on the shop floor. It looks very Conan-Doyle. Flanked by two blue chairs. A stone mantel she had cleaned and restored. An ornate mirror above the fireplace with little copper string lights hooked over the corners of it. Little end tables with lamps near the chairs. Books for sale next to the old clock and mirror on the lip of the mantel.

 

She wasn’t just making this space into a loveless room to do business. It was homey. It was a place that invited people in. Cosy. Embracing.

 

It’s her. It feels like her. It’s decor is all completely _her_. From the sweet jar by the counter full of jelly beans for the little ones. To her knack for hunting down vintage things that fit the place perfectly. Polished walnut wood touches. Painted shabby chic furniture. More twinkle lights and pumpkins than he could shake a stick at - for the festive season, naturally. It’ll be bedecked in Evie’s touches no matter what time of year it is. Christmas. Spring. Halloween. She’ll make all of it look pretty.

 

Even though it wasn’t his taste - he had to admit the walnut counter and the pointed victorian black and white tile floor looked pretty damn good now she’s got it all spruced up. The window is really what steals the show though.

 

She got an old dolls house from a thrift store. Painted it spooky grey colours. Went for a haunted house on the hill theme. Stuffed little kids Halloween books in some of the rooms. Twined the little wooden rooms with fairy lights. So it looks like the creepy little house is lived in.

 

She has orange twinkle lights bowed and sweeping in half crescent loops above the big arched windows. Real dry leaves she spent days collecting, and pressing, are suspended in the window on invisible nylon thread. Along with paper ghosts and spiders hanging near the leaves. Leering Pumpkins rest on top of stacks of books, with safety tea lights flickering away within. Ivory safety pillar candles too. It looks like they’re oozing wax over the books. True gothic style.

 

She has an entire plethora of spooky books stacked and displayed proudly in the window. ‘The Fog’ by James Herbert. Stephen King’s spookier novels. ‘It’ and ‘Pet Cemetery.’ Frankenstein, Dracula, the Haunted Dollhouse by M R James. And some spooky kids books propped up near fuzzy bats and soft toy pumpkins and ghosts. Nestled near a gothic candle lantern. ‘The Dark’ by Lemony Snicket. ‘Winnie the Witch’ by Valerie Thomas. And Roald Dahl’s ‘The Witches.’

 

They’re all stuffed artistically in the window. She’s painted little pumpkins, bats and cobwebs in a white paint pen, over the corners of the big shop-front window.

 

He watches from beyond that decorated window. Talking to Myrtle about the town library add-on his firm’s working on. And he’s just gazing through the window as people already approach the counter with stacks of books to buy. She smiles and happily rings up their purchases. Overwhelmed, but now in a much happier way.

 

Standing there. A thought hits him upside the head. Smacks into him like a freight train. He’s full on grinning at the sight of her. Selling books, giving out candy and balloons to kids. Laughing with her friends. Hugging them. Thanking them. Utterly in her element.

 

Buying this place, he reckons, is the best money he’s _ever_ spent.

 

It continues to be that way - the grand opening surpassed her wildest dream. She must’ve sold atleast nearly $800 worth of books in one day. She had to order more stock right away. And that just made her heart sing giddily.

 

She comes to his place that night. After the opening. Bursting with news to tell him. The books she sold. The people she saw. The conversations she shared. The odd quirky people she met. A lovely quiet eighty year old man, Frank from the deli, queuing up to buy Anne of Green Gables and Harry Potter, for himself - she’d asked. And then there was a young kid, no more than seven, barely able to peep over the counter, choosing the verbose complexity that was Stephen Hawking’s ‘A brief history of time.’ Sliding some scrunched allowance money across the counter to her, judging by the way he emptied his pockets to pay.

 

She even had out of towner’s coming to her store. Stating what a good idea it was to give out coffee vouchers with books for the town bakery. Telling her they’d be regularly popping by on weekends from now on. Telling her how this is now the best book store that’s local to them.

 

He smiles. Pouring her a glass of Rioja and listening to her talk animatedly about not believing how well it went. He’s cooking dinner, and even so, he continues listening. And his cheeks hurt smiling, from the stories she tells him. He likes listening. He drinks in every word. Liking how her excitement and pride is bubbling off her like fizzing champagne.

 

He’s chopping, slicing things to sauté them in the pan on the stovetop. Onions and garlic already sizzling. For their ratatouille, to go with their steaks. Quietly taking her in. He didn’t need music to keep him entertained. Not when he had her sweet voice to soak up. Her smile lighting up the room like the brightest watt bulb ever in creation. She’s just talking and regaling a story and his lips ache from grinning at her-

 

Money well spent? _Fucking hell, yes it is. Maybe it’s just simply the best thing he’s ever bought._

Evie’s smile. Excited rambling about her day, it makes it all worth it - not that he ever suspected he would feel otherwise. He really wants her to have lots more good days like the opening to look forwards too. Cause she deserves it. He knows thats the _one_ thing he can’t be in control of - the unpredictable, ever changing tide of owning a shop business.

 

If he could he’d make sure she’d never come home, with her sweet soul weary and sore from a bad day. And that reflection is a niggling annoying itch that pesters at his brain. She might have bad days. And his privilege will be, being right there to help her through them. With support, love - and his fists. If necessary. No one will upset her if they know what’s good for them.

 

She deserves every spark of happiness she could grab onto. Like catching golden little fireflies with her bare hands. And he’d help her to grapple onto those fleeting sparks if he could. _Always_.

 

Business stays busy. She adores that. She is not ashamed of her pride in knowing she’s created something special, this booky, homely space. A proverbial haven, a Mecca of sorts, to all town book lovers such as herself. There’s something magic about it when she comes to unlock the store on grim, frosty-dark mornings. She switches on all the candles and lights. Sets a fire in the hearth, and it just _glimmers_. The whole place does. Cosy warm. _  
_

She’s got seasonal plug in fragrances seeping scent out of outlets, and into the shop. Spiced apple and pumpkin. Lifting the air with a delicious spooky lilt. As today was halloween, she’s sees no harm in spreading a few fake filmy cobwebs and plastic spiders about some of the autumnal displays. Makes the fireplace look all spooky and gothic. She puts orange velvet cushions on the two grey armchairs. Makes sure a couple of Tim Burton books lurk in the front window.

 

She’s even gone to the market to pick up some Halloween candy. She empties heaps of it into a plastic orange pumpkin bucket and leaves it out on the counter near the vintage antique cash register. Speaking of which, the clunky gold thing had sat unloved, forgotten and broken in the back closet when she took possession of the shop. Left behind. She had said one day as they were painting shelves together, that she’d like to restore it and use it. Kylo had smirked - offhandedly saying that he knew a guy. And now here it was. Gleaming. Polished and proud. Serving her well.

 

She took the holiday _very_ seriously - in fact she took every holiday seriously. Elf hats and eggnog at Christmas. Bunny ears at Easter. Green on St. Patrick’s day. Stripes and stars on the fourth of July.

 

Which went so far as to explain her outfit for today. Which was a fitted skater style, black velvet dress. The skirts had a little sway in them. Granny’s old victorian cameo broach on her collar. She wore creepy cobweb patterned black tights. And lace up vintage boot heels. Like pointy toe witches shoes. Which was ironic, seeings as she also bought a big brimmed, pointy black witches hat to wear.

 

And she topped her outfit off by propping a fake, wood straw broom up near the till. Picking the Michael’s price tag off. And then dangling a fake plastic spider and webs off the bunched twigs. She had fake leaf garlands of maple rust around the counters and a real orange and red leaf wreath on the door, from Anna, who made it special for her. Studded it with dried oranges, apple slices, mini pumpkins and cinnamon sticks. With paper leathery black bats and leaves.

 

Evie had joked that it looked good enough to _eat_. And it looked divine on her blue door, surrounding the welcome sign. Her entire shop porch smelt like cinnamon because of it. She suddenly can’t wait for it to be Christmas, to scent the red berry holly wreath she’d hang there instead. She can’t wait to see her little store sat snug in this town when it’s shrouded in thick muffling white snow. She wants to put a real Christmas tree in the window.

 

9:00am on the dot, she opens up. A few town regulars bustle in. It was a weekday after all. Kids already off to school - but she gets a couple dropping in on their way. She knows them by name of course. She says a sweet hello to all her already loyal patrons.

 

She’s kept relatively busy all morning. Restocking. Helping a couple of Flo’s ladies to choose a racy historical romance novel. Steering them right away from wanting; ‘ _that naughty book by that E. L James woman.’_ She settles them with a raunchy and excellent Tessa Dare novel each. And makes a mental note later, to tell Kylo that he better watch out next time he see’s Myrtle and Barbara around town.

 

She’s sat in all her witchy garb. Hat and all. Totting up sales, and opening letters when the bell on the door rings. She was concentrating on the books and doing a stock check after the opening as she had a chance. Seeing what was popular and what she needs to reconsider stocking. She peers her eyes up from the counter, and does a double take.

 

Because Ben is pushing the door shut after him. Tinkling bell chimes announcing his arrival. He grins filthy at her.

 

“Trick or treat, babydoll...” He flirts. Swaggering up to the counter, hands in his pockets. She puts her pen down and shuts the sales ledger.

 

“ _Mmm_...” He purrs looking at her. “Treat it is.” Catching sight of her cute costume.

 

She sits up straighter. Her eyes steel over. She scans him up with narrowed eyes. He leers catching sight of her. Tilting his head and eyeing her up and down. He looked playboy-ish today. In a soft black jumper. Boss jeans and his expensive tan calf-skin chelsea boots.

 

“What are you doing here?” She asked. Completely taken by surprise. Seeing him in here. She doesn’t even know why he’d come to know about her having a shop.

 

“Do you give all your customers such a warm polite welcome?” He coos with a smile.

 

“ _No_. My cautious greeting is reserved purely for you, Ben. Force of habit. Why _are_ you here?” She asks. Eyeing him with sharp blue eyes as she opens a letter. Deciding it’s safer to keep the till counter between them. Safe strong barriers and all that.

 

He comes right up close. Slings his elbows to brace on the space by the till. Leaning in, bending at the waist. She catches a drift of his sweet cologne peeping across at her. He steals a sucker candy from the pumpkin basket she had out. Playfully sucks it into his mouth. Rolling it around.

 

“Cute place you got here.” He compliments. Eyeing up the dresser filled with spooky soft Halloween toys and Jellycat brand teddy’s stuffed behind her. Sucking noisily on his candy. Twirling the taste round his tongue. He smiled as soon as he came through the door.

 

It was like stepping into Whoville. Or the inside of a pumpkin. Orange and autumn, and pumpkin spice scent exploded everywhere. It’s warm though. It feels cosy. Looks exactly like her kind of style.

 

“Thankyou.” She says warily. Feeling like she’s being made fun of. She slips the hat off and puts it on the counter.

 

“I assume you are here for something? And not just to steal all my candy that I bought for the _other_ children.” She seeks. Coming to a stand and bringing a pile of books she’s returning to their shelves into her hands. She turned her back for one minute, and when she faces him again. He’s slunk closer. Boxing her in. Blocking her exit in the gap between the till and the wall.

 

“Maybe I came to see why you didn’t come to my party...” He smiles perkily.

 

“Because I was busy.” She explains.

 

“Doing my brother?” He asks darkly. Raising his brows in a lewd gesture. Kitten licking the lollipop - a ruse designed to tease.

 

“ _Throwing_ your brother a birthday party. One that didn’t involve a harem of Calvin Klein models, and cases of Vueve Cliquot.” She jokes with him.

 

“Versace models actually.” He corrects. Watching her scurry past him. Chests almost bumping as she went to return her stack to their allotted homes on certain shelves. He follows her. Annoyingly.

 

“Well. I’m sure you had a whale of a time.” She says with the tiniest slither of judgement in her tone.

 

Looking at the top book in her arms, and leaning on tiptoes to put it back. He crosses his arms and leans against the nearest bookshelf. Towering by it. Tongue playing with the stick of the sucker as he watches her dress ride up the back of her thighs as she stretches up. He eyes her up like she’s a five course meal.

 

He makes a noncommittal sound. “I always do.” He smirks in a facade. Lying through his teeth. When what he’d really come to terms with at his party, is how little he wanted to be there.

 

“So, what did you guys get up to?” He seeks.

 

“Forgive me. But I don’t see how it’s any of your business...” She calls over her shoulder. Turning to another bookshelf. Winding around a big circular table display. One with yet more carved pumpkins on it. And little bats and fall leaves hung from the ceiling, here too.

 

“Just curious.” He adds.

 

“Careful. Curiosity killed the cat.” She warns lightheartedly.

 

His grin is all smug. And brat. “Yeah babe. But satisfaction brought it back.” He woo’s. Blocking her way again.

 

She turns and hits into his chest as she walks. Stopping with a soft ‘ooof’ noise coming out her mouth. She narrows her eyes up at him.

 

“Ben. I don’t know if you’ve noticed. But this is my _business_. The livelihood that I now depend on. I’m too busy running a bookshop to play your flirty little teasing games. So either buy something. Or _go_ -“ She urges. She was trying to sound unkind. But they both know she’s not really capable of pulling it off.

 

“That’s actually why I came...” He says. She stops in her tracks. Swivels around and blinks in disbelief across at him.

 

“Beg your pardon?” She asks. Her ears must’ve been malfunctioning.

 

“I came here for a book, sweetie.” He tells smugly.

 

She raises one brow. Smiling only a little. Holding the stack of books to her chest.

 

“You mean you actually, _read?_ ” She can’t resist saying.

 

His jaw ticks playfully. He narrows his eyes and sucks on his candy. “Ha- _ha_.” He says dryly.

 

“It’s not for me.” He adds. “It’s actually for my boyfriend. He’s into all that shit, and you know _I’m_..” He clears his throat. Awkwardly pausing. “Actually trying to be a thoughtful person and buy him stuff he likes.” He’s fiddling with the candy in his hands. Averting his eyes from her for a second.

 

Evie feels rotten for teasing.

 

She steps closer. “Well? What does he like? I can help you find something.” She smiles. And it’s sincere. Ben’s eyes meet hers for a second.

 

“He likes some chick artist called Margaret Bourke-something.” He says offhandedly.

 

“Margaret Bourke White...” Evie smiles. “He likes black and white photography books?” She enquires.

 

“I don’t know. Yeah. Artsy shit like that.” He shrugs. She nods. Gesturing to the bookshelf not far away. Where she had a special WW2 history section.

 

Evie pulls him out a Bourke-White book to flip through. Ben scoffs. “Seems like a lot of depressing bullshit to me...”

 

Evie loads a Robert Capa, a Dorothea Lange and a W Eugene Smith into his arms. He grins smug as she crouches to her knees beside him to get to a lower shelf.

 

“ _Mm_. Evie honey, don’t go teasing me like that...” He grins down at her. She sighs annoyedly. Almost at eye level with his crotch. Hence his crudeness. His inability to keep quiet.

 

“You want my help? Or not?” She asks up at him carefully. He smirks at her.

 

“What’s the fucking point of all this photography anyway?” He pipes up. Flicking through the book in his hands. Evie comes to a stand. Peering at the pages he’s looking at. Eugene Smiths 1970 Minamata portraits. A young Japanese girl being bathed by her mother. An awful shot of horribly real deformity and the affects of Mercury poisoning.

 

“I suppose pictures speak and shock louder than words ever can.” She says optimistically. Putting more books back where she’d reorganised them.

 

“Smiths later stuff can be hard hitting. But his country doctor pieces are nice. Capa’s is traditional wartime American photography. And Dorothea Lange is one of the pivotal voices of the consequences of the Great Depression.” She explains. “It depends on what kind of taste...your boyfriend would prefer.”

 

Ben eyes up the three thick books she put in his arms. “Can’t say I know much about his taste in literature.” He smiles naughtily.

 

“What do you know about him? You can spare me details of bedroom mannerisms.” She warns lightly. Walking back through the shop. A few people bustle near the front. One person is sat in the armchair, engrossed in a Maeve Binchy novel.

 

Ben sighs. Humming in thought. “Well. He’s a Dr... Psychologist.” He says. “British. Tall. Red head. Great thighs...” He smirks. Watches her blush as she rounds the counter by the till.

 

“I said you can spare me...” Evie fairly calls out to him. Ben chuckles.

 

“You’re no fun.” He teases with a wink. Placing the books down before her.

 

“I was being serious you know. I’m.. I really am happy you’ve found someone.” She tells. “And buying books for your loved one is a nice idea.” She smiles.

 

“He’s not exactly too smitten with me right now. Hence the gifts. We got some shit to work out.” He explains.

 

“Well. He must be special to warrant a gift.”

 

_He is._ Ben thinks. But he doesn’t say it.

 

“Here’s to hoping.” He says with a note of dying faith.

 

“What’s he like?” She asks openly. Ben thinks. Fiddling with the squishy toy ghost she had sat flopily on the register.

 

“He uh- has a cat he’s insane about. Like some crazy old lady. He’s annoyingly neat and careful. Meticulous about everything. Drives a jaguar. Reads three newspapers every morning. Likes tea. A _lot_. Drinks that Japanese Kombucha stuff in a glass pot all pretentious like, like the full tilt diva that he is.” He sighs in exasperation. Evie chuckles. Ringing up his books.

 

“He loves his mom, like a good boy. Visits her often. Calls her every day. Hates his father, and oddly, mushrooms. He goes home to London every winter cause he misses the rainy English weather. And the food. He always bitches about American food at Christmas.” He tells. “And that’s really all I know.” He finishes. Reaching in his back pocket for his wallet.

 

“He sounds like a _good_ person. Everyone could always use one of those in their lives.” She explains heartily.

 

“You deserve a nice person, Ben.” She adds. “Someone who cares _about_ you. And not just cares about sleeping with you.”

 

“What do you care? You hate me...” He points out.

 

She looks nearly offended. “I’ve never hated anyone.” Her expression is a thing to marvel at. She’s so resolutely honest about it, he actually can believe that.

 

That stumped him. He grunts. She can see she’s hit a brick wall with this. She soldiers on. Trying to teach Ben about the finer qualities of human compassion and forgiveness.

 

“You know, flowers are good for apologies. Not many people can turn away flowers.” She says coyly. Not looking at him. But feeling his stare. His eyes are indeed piercing at her.

 

“I assume you’ve got some making up to do?” She asks sweetly.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He dismisses with a smirk.

 

“That’s why I’m asking.” She counters innocently. Checking the price of the books. “Chocolates are good too...” she mumbles under her breath. “Or sincere apologies...”

 

He glares just a little bit.

 

“Which ones you taking?” She seeks as a distraction.

 

“All.” Is his answer. Sliding across a wad of notes from his wallet. She hesitates for a second. But ultimately smiles and accepts the money. She rings up the total and goes to give him his change. But she doesn’t get a chance. He seized the books before she could even put them in a tote bag. Gave her a wink - stole another fistful of candy and saunters off toward the door.

 

“Keep the change, babydoll. See ya round.” He smirks. The bell chimes. The shop door shuts. And hurricane Solo moves on cause it’s devastation somewhere else.

 

She unfolds the bills in her hand and sees he paid $200 for three expensive books that totalled $82.50. She smiles and puts it in the till. Shaking her head at his antics. But she was pleased to see him buying gifts for a special someone.

 

She peeped across the square curiously, and sure enough, there he was again. Strolling into the Florists. She does smirk a little at that.

 

Ben Solo _does_ have a heart after all.

 

It’s underused and she’s not entirely sure where in his body it’s been hidden away. Locked up. But she’s comforted by the fact that she’s now definitely aware of its existence.

 

After a quiet morning with only a handful sold. Her afternoon busies up very quickly. Mainly as many, _many_ , kids Halloween story books get sold after schools let out at 3. Parents and kids came flocking to the shop. She runs out of the Goosebumps books. And some of the more sinister Roald Dahl’s. She also shifts a fair few copies of the Tim Burton making of books she has in the window. She hands out candy too, and gives away free little fuzzy toy bats with purchases of three books or more. She gave them all spooky names, Mortimer. Grimshaw. Snaggletooth and Gnawbone. Which caused a few giggles from her hopped-up-sugar-rushed little customers.

 

One thing she loves about this job is helping them find books they loved. She had a lovely conversation with a little girl who loved the ‘Vampirates’ series by Justin Somper. They both unanimously agreed that they had the biggest crush on Lorcan Furey. She recommended a very similar title by Anthony Horowitz about a young boy spy. The ‘Alex Rider; Stormbreaker’ series. She enjoyed talking to all the kids - who all seemed fascinated by her warm, bookish self. She made reading silly and fun. Not just another facet reminding them of school.

 

She told her customers - parents and kids alike - that she was thinking of having a storybook hour every week. Snacks and hot chocolate supplied. They could use the kids comfy corner and the big chesterfield as she reads excerpts from some of her personal favourite kids Halloween books. A sort of, after school event. She had lots of interest in that which bolstered her spirits.

 

She locks up shop that night, bubbling with pride. Waving goodbye to kids who clutched onto their newfound books with love. Her heart burst with happiness from every little “Bye Evie.” And especially when a couple of them hugged around her knees for a cuddle in parting. Thanking her for their fuzzy bat toys.

 

It wasn’t just a shop she was opening. Not just a heartless business. It was a place for folk to socialise. A new place in town to go and enjoy. To come sit next to a roaring fire for a little while with a new read. Evie didn’t kick people out - she never would. She let them stay for as long as they wanted or needed. She sold back to school packs, crammed with books, stationary and supplies. Sold them on the cheap for families where money was tight. She just wants people to learn and enjoy books. She can’t put a price on that.

 

She locks up. Shuts the shutters. Switches off the pumpkins for another day. And she heads across the dark street, bundled up to keep away the cold. Hands shiver deep in her pocket. Scarf trapping her hair. Big Burberry coat wrapped tight about her body. Breath ghosting hazy silver on the air.

 

She gets in her little car and trundles on home. Her home. She’s the first in. And all is dark and gloomy. She soon let’s herself in and rectifies that.

 

She lights the fire in the lounge. A couple of candles. Changes into something slouchy and warm. Pyjamas and big chunky knit socks. It seems fitting. Long sleeves And bottoms, pale blue stretchy pj’s trimmed with snowy-white lace. She sets a three bean chilli in the stove and gets some corn-bread on the side ready. A lazy dinner for a lazy night. She likes eating chilli from a deep cereal bowl, sat in the couch. Watching a sappy movie.

 

She loves how Kylo never minds what she puts on. He sat through Pride and Prejudice the other night. He drank his red wine and she cuddled into his side. She couldn’t hide her amazement. He just watched it. Didn’t make any comments or snide remarks.

 

She curls up in a ratty cardigan with a cup of tea. And before she knows it, she’s drifting off to sleep. Busy day and all taking its toll.

 

She wakes up, eyes groggy and tongue fuzzy. When a big thumb strokes along her warmed cheekbone. She snuffles awake with a groan. Thankfully she wasn’t drooling unattractively into her couch pillow. Hair sticky to her cheek.

 

“How’s my spooky little witch...” He hums lovingly. He’d seen her hat she hooked on the stair banister. Pointed shoes left on the mat. She looks up and fixates on him when her eyes focus.

 

He’s looming over her. In half light-and ochre firelight. It’s fully velvet black outside now. Cold as ever. Tips of his ears and his nose are tinged rosy with it. His big pea coat collar is folded up.

 

He’s a picture of virility in his tailored grey suit. White shirt and poppy red tie. He’s already started to tug it loose. She likes thinking he’s winding up the drive and already the suit is coming off. The stiffness, façade and ruthless-outer-CEO-exterior crumbles away. And her big man is left. He was already a great man. His job didn’t detract or add anything onto his already vastly stoic character.

 

“She’s fine.” She mumbles sleepily. Stretching out all cosy and soft. She sits up, cushions crinkle underneath her, and the couch creaks when she moves. He smiles. Cause her hairs all messy and ruffled. Cheeks all warm and eyes hooded.

 

She sits up. Leaning her head up for a kiss. He leans down and satisfies her. Lips smacking wet. Deep kiss. Sinking into it’s indulgence. His hand cups her cheek. Cheek, jaw, neck. His big mitts covers most of the side of her head.

 

“How was work...” She asks. _Always asks._ Always wants to know how his days gone. He’s never had that before. He was lucky if his exes even said ‘hello’ to him. Just came right up and cupped his dick through his trousers, whining for sex.

 

“Work was good. Big meeting today with a company from Japan. I think it went well.” He says. Stroking her chin. Before pulling away to take off his coat. Then Evie grins. Because he was going from strength to strength with his company. She couldn’t be more proud of him is she tried. She could shout it to the heavens. ‘Kvelling’ about it, as Arthur would say.

 

Naturally, her greetings are always sweet - Of course, but there’s still days far more lustful for him and Evie. Days where he comes home of tension. Stress making his shoulders bunch tight like marble stone. And the only way he knows how to relieve it is her.

 

Gets her sat on the kitchen counter. Gets her on his lap and slips his fingers right in her pussy. Savouring the tease before the take. He likes spreading her across a bed. His or hers. He doesn’t care which. Likes the way she looks all stretched out. Likes when she gets her hands all over him. Every part of him is in her palm. She has him all. She takes away his stress and worries with each gasp he can pull from her. And it always ends with kissing and more and his need to drown himself in their intimacy likes he’s undernourished.

 

They can still be in bed hours after. He just likes the feel of her being close. Lays with her in his arms. Skims his fingertips over every ridge, curve, freckle, and her soft, so soft, skin. Maps her out with his lips. He just explores her body and in the end he can’t even remember, not even a hint, of what he’d been so wound up about.

 

He gets his lips, or his hands on her, and everything else just crumbles away into unimportance. _That’s what he loves_ _about her._

And that right there, that’s just it. That little four letter word doesn’t even trip him up. And doesn’t that just fucking steal the damn show...

 

He’s never felt this before. That’s why he thinks he can identify what it is. This calmness. The easiness. It _must_ be it. The thing he’s not supposed to feel.

He chucks his coat to crumple on the sofa. Jacket too. Yanks off his tie completely. Let’s the fine fabric snake into a coiled pile on top of his outerwear. She tucks her knees up and he crashes down onto the couch beside her. It whines and creaks in protest. But she doesn’t.

 

Her quilt blanket falls aside and he smiles. “My favourite pyjamas too. I am a lucky man.” He grins salaciously.

 

He gets her right in his lap - curled up in luxury. Buried his mouth in her silken neck. She’s all perfume and warm sleepy skin. Hot from sleep. Almost too hot. His big hands stroke her pyjamas. She rests against that big chest like it’s her own hunky pillow. She could happily live there. Safe in the arms that many others saw as a threat.

 

Speaking of such dangerous things. “I saw Ben today he came into the shop.” She says when he pulls back. She kisses a spot on his jaw. Feels it tense and tick.

 

His whole body goes rigid. Evie soothes him the way she’s so good at. Nuzzles smooches into him all sweetly. Kisses sweeter than icing sugar.

 

“ _No_. Nothing like that. I promise. He was actually there to buy a book for his boyfriend.” She smiles when she pulls back.

 

He raises a brow. “He’s conned some poor idiot into thinking he can go faithful?” He remarks.

 

“He actually, seems... rather serious.” Evie convinces. Kylo strokes her knee.

 

“I have little faith in Ben doing something emotionally healthy for himself. Put it that way. If it’s in his best interest, he’ll find a way to fuck it over.”

 

“I’m remaining optimistic for him. He needs someone nice.” She puts out. Stroking his chest. He mumbles a kiss to her temple.

 

Her halo must get heavy at times.

 

“You stay that way. You’re better off.” He tells her. Loving her faith. Lord knows he lost all his years ago. Maybe he was never born with any. He’ll never know.

 

“And actually him being in town would explain why Myrtle called me and said I looked different with a goatee.” He muses. She chuckles.

 

They lapse into silence. Thick with sounds of the windy woods outside the cold pane of the windows. The crackle and spit of the fire. Evie watches sparks shifting off the ashy wood twirl and blaze up the chimney. She’s cosy. He’s here. It can’t get any better.

 

“Dinners in the oven. And before I forget, I need to go to the market. Got a couple things to fetch for Flo tomorrow for Thanksgiving.” She pipes up.

 

“This early? It’s weeks away yet...” he struggled to understand.

 

She smiles. Slides her hands to hook around his neck. He tilts his head down at her. Creases under his chin crumpling up all cute.

 

“You’ve got quite the experience of a Bernstein Thanksgiving to look forwards too.” She beams. And what a feast it was. All the fixings. And plenty of. She was on mac and cheese. Four huge pans of it.

 

He grins. “You don’t scare me, Winslow.” Then “What are we cooking?” He asks. And just when she thinks she can’t get anymore enamoured of him. She has to kiss him firmly for that. Those big plush lips nibble hers. Breath sends shivers through her skin.

 

He’s thinking how handy it is she’s all ready for bed. And dinners safe and sound keeping warm. He could make _good_ use of that temptingly handy circumstance.

 

She innocently twirls a finger over one of his cold stiff nipple ring through his shirt. His eyes blaze amber-granite. Hungry. He’s growled how many times about the consequence of getting burned from playing with fire like that.

 

“Oh. I like a man who cooks...” She smiles warmly. Her eyes all blue and sparkling and shaded. She smooches him again.

 

“I think I need to fuck you before dinner.” He grumbles offhand when they break apart. Voice moving through his chest like rolling gravel. Hands squeezing her thigh.

 

She blushes. “Any particular reason?”

 

He smirks. Pawing at her clothes. Mouth slipping to her neck. Weakening her. Fireworks popping kicking in her blood. Spine racing in pleasure.

 

“I’m a man beyond reasons at this point Kitten.” He puts her hand on his crotch. He’s deliciously hard and thick already.

 

“But there’s your first...” He smirks. Biting over her pulse. Mouthing skin.

 

“I can give you a couple more as we go along, if you need...” He teases darkly. She smiles and moans in agreement.

 

Because, oh, how he does - and _he does and he does._

 

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do tell me what you fine people made of that sugary treat 💕


	43. Past’s & Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving mushiness to really hammer at the heartstrings here 💕
> 
> Tw; some flashback of violence/abuse in this chap

 

 

 

 

 

It was a lazy few days in the lead up to thanksgiving. Lazy, but very domestic.

 

There’s a lull that’s fallen over them. Nothing disastrous of course- not a dull loveless one. Just a cosy, comfortable one. The weather turns foul outside. Spitting rain and bitter cold. Long November days of mushy grey sky after the golden maple rust and bustle of a spooky Halloween. Days come in short bursts followed by spun-out evenings drawing in.

 

Maybe it’s the horrible weather that seems to drive them both home quick to be together. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s just an awfully nice end of the day for the pair of them. Something about warm hearty winter food, a log fire, and those long velvet-dark nights drawing stretching reeling on and on.

 

Sometimes, they curl up and read their respective books. She’ll be in her cardigan, and big floppy cotton blue pyjamas and reading glasses by the fire in her armchair. He’s just next to her on the sloping, squashy couch, with his laptop in his big hands, and a glass of Cabernet and fixated, with a grumpy growl emerging out his throat, aimed at some lingering work that won’t go away. Or wait til tomorrow.

 

She thinks he’s awfully cute when he’s all grouchy. He frowns at her over his glasses when she says so.

 

They have candle lit dinners and tell the other all about their day. They talk a lot about everything. Movies. Music. Work. Bookshops. Architecture. Arts. He listens more than he talks, that’s true enough. But she likes the way he broods and mulls things over. She’s not trying to change that aspect of him - to make him talk more. Because she’s glimpsed at the root of why he’s so quiet.

 

“ _Don’t talk. Can’t get hurt.”_

 

And she’d never dare push into that old festering wound. She loves him how he is. Doesn’t see him as a man she can improve and shape into performing as someone else. She’ll love _all_ she’s got here in this big tall muscly package. Nothing more. Nothing less. Though, she’d point out she’d have loved him fiercely still, even if he bussed tables or dug out graves for a living.

 

That’s natural now. Hearing her talk about her day - it feels like it’s becoming part of Kylo’s daily routine he loves it so much. He talks back too. More succinctly, yes, but warmly. He likes hearing stories about the funny quirky customers she gets in the shop. He asks about the regular ones. She likes that he asks.

 

They occasionally take a bath together on those dark winter nights - more so at his, than at hers. With the best will in the world in odes to his gigantic beautiful body, he looked like a hippo in a teacup trying to use the cramped little tub at her place. He likes when they’re all naked and sudsy with something oily botanical she pours into the bubbles. Doesn’t know what. But it smells divine and it somehow softens up his tattoo hardened skin. He melts into it.

 

Then he’s a man in heaven when she kneels over him and scrubs up his hair into lathered black foam. He sighs in content when she massages his scalp with her nails.

 

They go to the movies in town for some re-run flicks or horrors on a Friday. Share the biggest popcorn and butter kisses. Trying not to make out in the dark like horny teenagers. They go see ‘The Fog’ one night. It being Fall and all. Another time they go to see ‘Singin in the rain’ with Flo. She steals all the red vines like the terror she is. Also sneaks in whisky in a flask for her and Kylo to share. That makes Evie roll her eyes. Shake her head in telling them off. Flo never listens. She just grins.

 

One weekend he takes her to the little pumpkin patch just outside town to go picking. She needed more for the shop. He stands there, in the bitter wind, with his cold gloved leather hands shoved in his Burberry cashmere overcoat pockets, watching her ramble around the field happily, picking out the biggest, plumpest pumpkins she can find.

 

She even favours some of the smaller ugly deformed ones - Cause it’s Evie. Of course she does. ‘ _Ugly things need love too.’_ She’d chirped.

 

Kylo’s cold right down to his bones even in his big thick thick coat. And his ears are tipped red, frozen numb, they stick out and catch the wind - swirling his hair. But he’s still smirking. He carries the big ones for her. Nuzzling his lips to her cheek in his kiss when she frets about how chilly he is.

 

On the way home they stop by at Lou’s, her treat, to get some Chilli and sweet potato soup to warm him up. She’s wearing a pinched face of guilt that he got so cold for her sake. He paid for the pumpkins too. No arguments. Carried them to the car too - also no arguments. So when he slips his leather driving gloves off - she can see his big pink knuckles looked cracked and chapped raw with cold. She feels wretched.

 

He never even let out so much as a peep of complaint. She feels rotten.

 

They’d grabbed a small table to themselves in the greasy spoon diner. And she takes both his hands in hers, those dainty hands barely even cover his fingers there’s such a size difference. And she kisses those big mitts warm. Her face going all splotchy red from the lovely muggy heat in the place.

The scent of comfort food cooking fills the air from floor to ceiling. Cold fogs the hot window from outside. Her cheeks almost match the raspberry wool beret she’s wearing. She smiles. Soft warm lips smiling against his knuckles. He slips his hand down to the tabletop to find hers. Watches their so _so_ obvious size difference with warmth in his charcoal-honey eyes.

 

Their fingers lock together. And he tells her, with a lazy grin and eyes all full up of adulation, that he honestly didn’t mind.

 

At that moment Lou comes over and slides them two gigantic deep set bowls of chilli soup and heaps of sour dough bread. And little dishes with soft round cakes of yellow salty butter for them too. When he leaves, he leans over and almost nibbles at her ear telling her how she can _properly_ warm him up when they get home.

 

She does - and she’s then bed bound for the rest of that afternoon.

 

Now she knows the expression fucked senseless. She’d _lived_ that expression. On her back all afternoon. His hips pumping between her wide splayed legs. Or his head there instead. Inky hair spilling over her stomach. Long big fingers curled over her hips steadying like anchors as he licks and makes out with her sweet petaled heat.

 

When he’s done - she’s spread out like butter on bread - rubber limbed and spent away almost to sleep. He’s alternating between kissing her trembling pussy and her ripe mouth. Stopping on the way down - or up - to mumble love onto her skin, her tits, her ribs, her thighs, her sweat kissing onto his puckering soft mouth.

 

She’s laying there. Hoarse, lips sore from sucking his - too big too long way too much - cock. He finished in her mouth and she takes every drop all down. Quivering in the aftermath of orgasms that leave her an empty useless husk.

 

He definitely warms up after that. Flushed to his belly button from the way they fucked real languid - real slow - for hours.

 

They prefer this. They go to bed early on nights when it’s too cold. And no work stops them. Everything is quiet. Day is done. And they happily spend all night between the sheets _and_ between each other’s thighs. Sticky sweaty and writhing in bliss. Some nights they swap dinner for fucking if the mood takes. It can be slow. It can be rough. And it’s always nights they treasure. The purest and basest intimacy two people can share.

 

Physical-punch-to-the-fucking-gut, aching, giddy, terrifying love.

 

Kylo never even comprehended he could have or deserve anything like this. It’s shaken him to his unshakeable core. That he can be as fucked up as one life can allow a person to be. And that he can have _this?_

_He’s waiting on the other shoe to drop._

 

It’s got to be _unreal_. He’s living someone else’s life. Stolen it or hijacked it. It can’t he his. It just can’t. _How can all this goodness be his? How can she be his?_ He keeps expecting to jolt awake. But he’s so utterly pleased when he never does.

 

It was domestic. The most he’s ever known. Especially when the last week of November comes, holiday looming, there’s something delightful about the way Kylo offered to help Evie get things ready for their thanksgiving feast at Flo’s.

 

They’d been sat to breakfast, opposite each other, at her kitchen table, on a Sunday morning when he’d asked to help.

 

Coffee steaming. Sky outside chunky with chowder thick grey clouds sloshed on the horizon. The wood outside feels bare and the golden leaves are now tramped on the floor like autumnal leaf carpeting. It’s toasty warm in her kitchen. Hint of a smoky log fire spicing the air up acrid from the other room. She’s sipping her coffee when he asks. Cradling the mug in cupped hands. And the steam smears her reading glasses when she smiles. She’d been flicking through a home-style magazine.

 

She took him up on it with a beaming smile. “Of course.”

 

He looks irresistibly cute - a hard feat for a six foot four mountainous stack of muscles and tattoos to pull off. But he’s wearing one of her pink rosebud patterned aprons which barely covers down to his denim black thighs. She placed three blocks of sharp cheddar before him and smiled.

 

“Come on big guy. Start grating.” She encourages. Taking a big casserole dish out of a drawer. Looking like a temptress crooning a sirens call to him with the way her blue jumper slips off one shoulder.

 

“Term of endearment I hope?” He smirks. Unwrapping the cheese. Looking at her with that curling smirk on his face. The one that dimples up his cheeks.

 

“I save only the tenderest of terms for you, my darling.” She smiles. Smooching a kiss to his cheek. She had to lean up on tippy toes. Even then he still has to meet her halfway. Her lips smack his cheek and he concentrates on his assigned task.

 

He’s never been anyone’s darling before. He smiles, as he takes the block of cheese down the metal grate. Watches it curl ripple into strings.

 

She puts her own apron on. Hers fits well in comparison to the way his looks like a rosy catastrophe. She chinches hers tight about her waist. She starts pouring packs upon packs of elbow macaroni in a vastly huge deep pan to bring to boil. Enough food to feed an army - which wasn’t far off an accurate description of the Bernstein clan gathering.

 

“You know...” He pipes up. Almost soft voice like he’s talking to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever really celebrated Thanksgiving properly since I was about, 16.” He lets out. For once the words didn’t choke or clot in his throat. Sticking there like something lodged jagged heavy in his windpipe.

 

He usually stays silent for fear of reaching out and getting hurt - but there’s nothing harmful here. Not in this farmhouse kitchen, with the smell of coffee still in the air. The buzz of the radio crackled crooning something jazzy. Fresh picked sunflowers, cut from her garden just this morning, stodgy green perfume blooming up the air from their glass vase, on the table where they ate breakfast every morning side by side. Cold overcast light washes heavily in from the window. Nothing about this homely place will scar him. So he speaks.

 

Evie wipes her hands on the teacloth hanging off the front of the stove. She pads softly back across to where he’s stood at the island. She comes to his side and chops up some slices of Gruyere. Sharing the same great big wood chunk of chopping board.

 

“I take it, home wasn’t the ideal environment for the holidays?” She gently gets out. She had no desire to force him to dig up old terrible barbs of his memories. But she did want to understand. Wants to let him know she’ll listen.

 

“Home was a poor word for it.” He firmly makes clear. But he’s not nasty about it. Never to her. Not to the woman who’d never once posed a question on her tongue about his childhood. Not after she was aware of its sickening trauma. How can he turn her down? If he didn’t bring it up it would never be talked about. No one would ever peck at it. He likes that she left it alone, until he himself wants to share it out.

 

His tongue almost knots up in his mouth. But he straightens it out to explain.

 

“We celebrated it once. At Grandmas. One of the first times all five of us were under one roof. Me, Ben, Mom and Grandma.” Voice light until it’s casted crashing into shade with the addition of - “And dad...”

 

If Evie ever came across his good-for-nothing-father. She’d have no shame in laying a punch right across his abusive vile disgusting face. And that reaction coming from the woman who could never consciously hurt a fly, said a _lot_ indeed.

 

“I can remember cooking with her in the kitchen. Mom too. Except she was shaking so bad, and drinking in fear of dad kicking off. So it was my responsibility to help out.”

 

“Gran sounds like was lucky to have you boys.” Evie says. He doesn’t know about that. Not after what happened.

 

He can see her now. In his minds eye. His mom.

 

Sat at the window, kitchen table, where the sun spilled in, splashing one side of her face. Her greying hair frazzled and brittle, arranged half up. Half down. Face tired and haggard. Bags puffy under her eyes. Expression weary and aged from drink and stress. Her gaudy 80’s fake, gold door-knocker earrings swayed as she raised a frail-trembling hand to smoke another camel down to the nub. Sharp red nails holding a smeared stubby glass full of vodka to her dry cracked lips after nicotine, and sickly grey smoke fluttered out.

 

“Be good boys and help out Grandma...” She’d tasked with a shaky voice.

 

“Mom?” Ben had asked her if she’s alright. Sat at the table peeling potatoes for Gran.

 

Mom just sucked on another cigarette and her eyes - brown-black, walnut like Ben’s, and obsidian ink like Kylo’s - darted wide, wet, worried to the living room door. Where the telly was blasting the game real loud. Their dad slouched out on the lazy boy. With a five day beard and a whisky stained shirt. Crunched empty cans of beer at his feet. One in his hand. Barking at anyone who would come in - so they all hid out in the kitchen far away from him.

 

They all wished they could brick up the door and leave him to rot.

 

Kylo hadn’t known it then. But their Mom was shredded with nerves because she was sending them away. She’d broken her back working to pay for them to go to undergrad programmes before enlisting them in college. Anything to get them away. And then she could get away too.

 

They weren’t kids anymore. They were quickly becoming young men. Tall, strong broad young kids who she knew wouldn’t stand for a lot more being beaten down before they started hitting back.

 

She knew if any fights started now - it’s a very real possibility the twins could realistically _kill_ him.

 

“Nothings wrong honey.” She chirps an answer at Ben. Necking back more vodka and tonic. Shakily tapping her ash into the anchor hocking green ashtray. She smiles. But it’s morbid. It’s so fraudulent. Like pasting wet paper over cracks in concrete. It clings wetly to what’s really underneath. Can’t hide it. Can’t lie.

 

Kylo’s got his back to them both as he helps Grandma. They’re stood together at the stove and he’s helping her rubbing herby butter into the clammy cold turkey skin. But he listens. Always listens. To how splintered her voice was.

 

Gran nudges him with her elbow. He tilts his head across to look at her. She smiles at him. Much more firmly than their mom had. Gran was so much more pieced together. These days mom was leaning more and more into a vodka bottle and packs of smokes than she should’ve been.

 

“Pass me that onion there sweetie.” She says to Kylo. He hands it over and they continue prepping. Gran gave orders and he did as he was told. With Ben’s input they boil and mash the potatoes. Boiling cranberry’s and orange juice to make the sauce to go with the turkey. Then the stuffing, mincing mushrooms, breadcrumbs, stock and herbs. Egg making it all sticky. Clinging to their fingers.

 

Ben ‘eww’s’ loudly and tries to wipe his gooey hands on Kylo’s shirt. He dodged and they sparred either side of Gran. Whose stepping in with a smile and trying to flick Ben away from annoying his brother with a tea-towel. Ben still trying to stick his gummy-viscous hands in his brothers hair. They laugh and tease-

 

A bottle smashing into the wall from the next room made terrible awful quiet fall quick on the kitchen. Glass skittered and shards rained crystal and showered whiskey drips down the wall.

 

Their smiles fall away like fallen stones sinking in a pond.

 

Angry thumping footsteps trudge through the house. On the floorboards that whine. And then he’s haunting the kitchen doorway with a harrowing glare aimed at his family. There in his shitty mustard and brown flannel shirt. Stained jeans and worn shabby suede boots. Cig hanging limp from his lips. Tip blazing amber like the orange of a blazing Indian summer sun.

 

The stench of him ebbs in.

 

He reeks of anger. The stench of Jack and shitty frothy beer. Of nicotine breath and of crappy old spice cologne - scent mossy wet like herbal tree bark - on his shirt. Stale on him. That seedy cheap 70’s bachelor type smell that he rubbed on his skin to try and cover up the alcohol and smoke. The smell of him makes Kylo gag. Shitty cologne burns his nostrils like phosphorus gas. Makes his stomach coil. Does for the rest of his life, too.

 

“Just... leave them alone. They ain’t done anything wrong.” Their mom shakily tries to persuade him. “They were only horsing around...”

 

“Did I ask for your fucking opinion?” Dad storms. Rolling up. Ben’s slunk to the sink to wash his hands. Kylo’s stood by Gran. Closest to him. Stirring the cranberry sauce. She puts an arm on her big grandsons back. Strokes him. Feels the raised hill of bone of one of his shoulder blades under his shirt.

 

“I can’t even watch the fucking game without you two little shits making noise huh?” He barks at them. Snapping at Kylo in particular. Getting up close snarling. A gobbet of spit lands on Kylo as he shouts. Kylo doesn’t move.

 

“I didn’t want to do this fucking holiday in the first place. But _no_. We just had to come here to ruin my one goddamn day off.”

 

“Come on. They barely made a noise...” Gran tries to defend. Frowning at him. He glares at her. Sucks in his cig, then puffs it out with venom in his voice as he jams it at her. Held with two fingers. Spitting. Snarling.

 

“Why don’t you just fucking go off and die and leave _my_ family alone...” he growls. “The only useful thing you’ll ever do for us.”

 

Kylo’s tasted rage before. How it slips bitter down the back of his throat. Like crushed up acrid pills sticky chalky on his tongue. He’s got a vice grip on the knife he’s using to dice carrots and celery.

 

Gran doesn’t look shaken. Doesn’t even look offended. Cool anger beats off her like static. They can feel it all in the air. She’s no match for him physically. But her stance alone spoke of her determination not to be cowering to this man any longer.

 

She’s watched her daughter do it since the day they married. She’s watched her get bruised and battered. She’s stood by and seen how her grandsons get torn to shreds and then patched up again and again and again, like rag dolls with stitched seams of knotted scars.

 

There’s just a terrifying lack of humanity about her. She looks more like a vast force of nature.

 

There’s real stony cold hatred in her eyes. They look dead. Eerily calm. Like a Black Sea. And her eyes shimmer like waves with tears that the wilful tilt of her chin is too stoic to let free. Moms just guzzling more vodka back. Plugging up her ears, deaf to it all, as per usual.

 

Ben slams the tea cloth to the counter and turns to storm up right to his dad. He’s almost grown enough to surpass his height. His square set shoulders are wider than dads chest alone. His arms more muscled.

 

And he’s just this six foot string-bean-lanky kid. With a shaggy walnut-charcoal mane, ears that stuck straight out of it, with a sure straight blade of a beaky nose. If it wasn’t so serious he’d have laughed at the illogicality of it.

 

Standing up to the person whose terrorised him all his life. Maybe it was for Kylo too. _Maybe_....But right now he’s only thinking of himself and defending his beloved sweet Grandma where his mom would not.

 

“Why do you _fucking_ have to ruin everything?” Ben snarls at him. Venom dripping from his mouth and his eyes like acid. His runaway mouth has always been there to get him in - or out - but more likely, in trouble.

 

Dad fists a hand in Ben’s shirt and drags right up to him. Shoving his face right up close. Being the drunken mean bully he always is. Puffs a sick smile and a haze of smoke into his face on purpose. Ben doesn’t cough. Just blinks.

 

“What’d you say to me, you little shit?”

 

Ben swings his arm back. But they’re too close to be throwing punches. Dad strikes when Ben pulls back. Rams a fist in his ribs. Winds him. Tries to go for his throat with his meaty old hands. Red welt striped across Ben’s cheek. The angry slapping sound of flesh on flesh tingles on the air.

 

“Leave him alone. _Stop_ that!” Grandma tries to shout. Deafening raw voices. Shouting. Pleading.

 

She tries to jolt the mean out of him. But it’s way too late. Nasty roots dug in deep long ago. His meanness, the cruelty, nothing like that foulness will ever leave a person once it’s made a home in some rotten pit of a place deep inside.

 

Kylo screws his eyes shut. Breathing through his nose and trying to filter the rage that’s blossoming through his blood. Racing veins. Cold, like a flush of saline.

 

Gran can’t take watching this. Not again. Not when she’s had decades of mopping up blood and patching these boys back together as best as she could. She tries to take Ben back. Get him behind her. Shield him.

 

His twin staggers back. Gran makes sure he’s ok. But he’s advancing on her then. Teeth grit. Eyes nasty. Shouting all the while at the top of his lungs. He’d never gone for Gran before. Now he was.

 

“Leave me and my fucking family alone you old bitch. Keep your fucking nose out of other peoples business.”

 

Kylo turns his head and watches his dad’s hand raise to her. Almost in slow terrible motion. He’s waiting to hear that slapping crack ripple the air sharp. Her cries ringing in his ears.

 

It doesn’t come.

 

He explodes. Sixteen years of aggression and retaliation and shame. Black eyes and split lips bloody noses and broken things. Of puking up blood at school. Of being trodden into the scummy gritty dirt for as long as he can remember. Pain. Blood. Snapped bones. Scars.

 

It’s all bursting burning saccharine like vinegar cementing down on his bones. He’s had _enough_ \- he’s had decades of enough.

 

Kylo catches his pathetic excuse for a parent square on the chest with a slash of the knife in his hand. Rips it across him.

 

A hit so strong that it staggers him right back to the wall. Before he can stop himself, Kylo has his dad back to it. Keeping him there with the cutting knife digging into the cords of his neck. Steel blade against sandpaper bristle.

 

Moms screeching. Grandmas wailing his name. He heard nothing but the sound of his own blood gonging past his ears.

 

His shirt is sliced through. And through the vest underneath. A fissure stripe of blood seeping scarlet staining into the plaid. He’s yanked his collar into his curled fist. And he barks words at his dad. Forces him to listen. Muscles bunched. Eyes slicing him up. Rage rage rage in his blood and stinging in his full-up pounding head.

 

“You raise a hand to any of us again. I’ll punch your rotten shining teeth down your throat old man. Don’t think I won’t.” He spits. Shoving him away so he fell in a drunk heap on the floor. Landing winded.

 

Kylo feels his hands shaking. Bloodied. Round pebbles of his nails ringed crimson. He’s never felt so calmly in control before. He likes it.

 

Likes the glimmer of sober uncertainty in his dads eyes as he cowers on the floor. Down there, belonging with the dirt like he should be.

 

He staggers up, leaving rusty smudges sticky on the wall as he rights himself. Theres rubble-dust speckled on the floor. Cause would you believe Kylo slammed a crumbling dusty chunk out of the plaster wall when he chucked his dad back.

 

He wasn’t surprised.

 

Kylo was however surprised that he didn’t kill him right there and then and do them all an enormous favour.

 

Grotesque, maybe. But satisfying. Sink this knife into his gut. Twist it. Watch a pool of blood blossom out staining this pink and white lino chequered floor. Sticky wet. Watch his dads life drain away. Just like the life and happiness he’d drained out of all of them. He wanted to watch him squirm and splutter. Blood spattered and choking as Kylo watched calm as helpless eyes scream for mercy from a terrified face.

 

Kylo could happily watch him die.

 

Moms sobbing on the table. Crying into her hands. Begging. Pleading - to who he doesn’t know. Ben goes and soothes a hand over her back. She clutched onto him desperate. A red welt across his cheek where dad got one punch in on him. Gran is crowded back into the corner L shaped counter. Trying to breathe evenly.

 

Dad rights himself. Spitting at Kylo as he staggers past and storms out. Clutching one arm at his wounded chest. Growling he was going to the union bar down at the works. Slams the door when he goes. Then there’s the soft angry thud of his rusty old truck door.

 

All that’s left of him - his wake of destruction - is mom’s sobs. The adrenaline burned like dynamite in his chest. Gran just pulls him to the sink and he lets her. She plunges his hands below stinging hot water and starts scrubbing blood off his hands. The harsh sizzle and scratch of bristles of a nail brush brings him back into the room. There’s almost something angry about the way she scrubs his hands.

 

“That was a real brave thing you just did.” Gran says. Tears coming. Kylo just looks at her as she concentrated on rubbing her hands over his. Watching the clear water bloom pink. Those big innocent black eyes looking across at her makes Gran lament the death of the boy she knew in the man stood here, now.

 

“I didn’t want you hurt too. He can hurt me all he wants. But _not_ you.” Kylo says to her. And he can’t stand bullies. Still couldn’t.

 

She cracks apart at that and leans onto him. As if she wasn’t hurt from watching them get bloodied and mangled for years. She swipes away her tears quick. Kisses his forehead. Tears splash his skin.

 

He just stands there. Watching everyone else all shaken up and hysterical. That was the first day he started feeling detached from it all. Gran dries his hands. Caressing every knuckle in the warm towel. Her hands her bent and a little crippled. Stiff with arthritis, but he lets her soothe him.

 

Small mercy was that after that day, he and Ben would never lay eyes on their father ever again.

 

“That was the last time I ever saw him.” Kylo explained to her. Still doing the task Evie’d given him. Perfectly unaffected.

 

Her face was a picture of pinched agony. She tucks her hand to his arm. Stroking him kindly. Hugging him. Nuzzling her head into his big bulging arm.

 

And it was the last time. The next day mom packed them both off to school. Kylo at MIT with a pathway for Architecture. And Ben at Yale for economics. She told them a week later she left him. Ran away with her measly scrap of savings from the Diner. Left him in that house. Left him a note that her, and the boys weren’t ever coming back. They had their scholarships. Kylo’s was academically driven with study and a high GPA. And Ben got his through his athletic achievements - but he was just as smart too. Typical that never utilised it to it’s full potential. They were safe. Far away from him.

 

Dad could rot in his misery. Stew in his drink and his temper. And Kylo’s wished every single day that he’d rot in hell. He wished he could find the man and send him there himself. Alas...

 

“Me and Ben got our scholarships. Went home to Grans for the holidays. My old man stopped paying his rent, racked up a few debts, and moved out to the middle of fucking nowhere in the Midwest. Mom went to god-knows-where with her savings. Didn’t really keep in touch much.” He tells.

 

“When did you last hear from her?” She asks sweetly.

 

“Not since freshman year in college. Kitten. She’s probably got a whole new life for herself by now.” He says with no hint of remorse or hard-hitting emotion.

 

She kisses his bicep. He turns and looks down at her. She’s all lashes and big doe brimming lapis lazuli eyes. Marine blue like the briny ocean. Such an innocent blue. She’s nuzzling her nose into the arm of his jumper. Holding onto him like a hug.

 

She felt this sad jolt quaking at her chest. Nibbling on her lungs and her heart. She thought of Kylo’s mom. She could be miles and miles and states away. In some middle managing job. Having a very old, frayed picture of two raven-haired twins pinned up on her desk. Or suchlike. A grainy awful faded Polaroid. Nothing compared to the sight of her big broad boys now. Somewhere, out there, she is a mother missing her sons - her babies.

 

Maybe sending them away was the kindest thing she ever did. Or maybe it was a way to get them off her hands too. Kylo doesn’t care which it might be.

 

She feels sad for him. But she remembers it’s not her place. It’s not her trauma. She doesn’t even lower her brain to ask a question about his father. She finds she couldn’t care less where he went. Or what happened to him.

 

“If she could see you now. I bet she’d be pleased as punch. Seeing how far you’ve come.” She smiles. Patting his strong corded forearm. She feels it flex where he’s still grating cheese for her. She leans up and she’s then stroking his hair out his eyes.

 

He kisses her head. And that’s as much of an answer as he can give her. That’s as much as his stoic cold heart will allow.

 

“Your Grandma sounds lovely.” She encourages.

 

He nods. “Yeah, she really was.” He was never one to gush about people who didn’t deserve it. But she warranted every good word and endearment he could realistically utter.

 

“We used to go home to hers each holiday. Home from college. Ben was a little more off the leash by then. He was doing his crazy frat boy spring breaks in Miami. But every spare second I got off school I spent with her. She was all seized up with rheumatism by then. Took hold of her pretty bad. I felt so awful that she was Living on food bank vouchers struggling to make ends meet. She was never a rich woman. I sent her every spare cent I could.” He explains.

 

He’d gotten used to coming home and helping her out around the house. Fixing the odd door hinge and lightbulb that her stooped little body and twisted stiff knees could no longer reach. It would be just the two of them. In that little homely house.

 

Kylo was right there for her. Even when she got too infirm to live on her own in that cosy house anymore. She moved to a retirement living community months after he graduated. He was on his internship at a prestigious architecture firm. The stressed busy intern. Visiting her every minute he had spare. Comforted that she had people looking in on her now he was was working every second of the day. She was having three square hot meals. Having her medication supplied by carers. It relaxed his mind. Eases his burden that he wasn’t the only one responsible for her anymore. Ben helped out where he could. His time shared hopping between Canary Wharf, and Wall Street. Much of his healthy wage went towards Grandma’s care.

 

Ten months into Kylo’s first real job. Just turned 20. Earning real money. And she passed away. Pneumonia. A bad cold got worse and worse. He sat by her bed for days. Doing puzzles with her. Fetching her anything she needed. Slept in the chair right next to her. Killed his neck and back. Got next to no sleep. He wasn’t leaving. Not even for a second.

 

She slipped away soft and gentle holding his hand. Just like that. There one minute. Gone the next. And how can that be fair? This matriarch who did so much for him. Her presence so big and bright and wonderful. Gone all in a moment.

 

It utterly broke him.

 

He had no home to go to then. He’d lost everything good he’d ever loved in this world. That was no way to say goodbye. He poured out how thankful he was. Kisses her hand. Cries. He was a better man for knowing her. For having her watching out for him cause no one else did.

 

Evie knows she’d passed. But this is the first time he told her the depth of their relationship. How close they were. How much they relied on each other. She remains thankful that he didn’t have to watch her fade. He was lucky to have her. Didn’t have to reintroduce himself to her again and again each time they met. Held onto the people she loved. She didn’t become an echo of the woman she was. Here in body. But lost in mind. That would’ve been cruel for him.

 

“Silly thought I know. But I wish I could’ve met her. She sounds wonderful.” Evie says. Rests her cheek on his arm. Holds him close. Whiff of cinnamon citrus cologne. Cashmere jumper. Warm blazing skin.

 

Kylo swallows. Throat bobbing. Tilting his head to look at her. Eyes rough cut diamonds glittering. But soft too. “She’d have adored you.”

 

Gran would love Evie unconditionally. He could picture them laughing and smiling together. Gran embarrassing him with some of the baby snaps she kept of him and Ben. While he cringes - but not really. Gran would’ve baked Evie a blintz casserole and told her how wonderful she was.

 

“How am I doing with this by the way?” He asks. Referring to the two blocks of cheese he grated through while he was talking.

 

“How much more of this do you need?” He seeks. She smiles. Going to check on the pasta that’s simmering opposite. She eyes up the mountain of grated cheddar.

 

“Keep going.” She smiles. Beaming. Cupping the back of his hand before she slips away to the stove.

 

He turns his head and watches her back. The way her shoulders slope. The way she’s twisted her toffee-rust hair up to cook. Simply baffled by how she just - accepts him. Accepts everything about him. Her ever prevailing wholesomeness makes him weak. It erodes away his engrained nastiness just that little bit more.

 

She melts a big pat of butter in a deep pan and whisks in flour. He smiles that she’s making it from scratch. No store bought shortcuts here. She gets a huge carton of milk from the fridge and starts whipping up the silky cheese sauce. He must’ve made a face when she reaches for a ton of evaporated milk cause it prompts her to explain.

 

“My secret weapon.” She explains. Pouring the thick gloopy milk into the mixture. “Bring some of that over...”She nods to the board. He sidles on over with a sizeable Everest of grated cheddar. He watches her slowly stir pinches of it and the Gruyere in.

 

They stand together by the stove. He follows her orders and sorts out the pasta once it’s cooked perfectly al-dente. Before long their combined teamwork has three great pans of the stuff ready and waiting to go in the fridge for tomorrow.

 

“You looking forward to Flo’s?” She asks him later as they’re tidying up. He’s elbow deep in the sudsy sink washing dishes. She’s drying. They’re in perfect companionable silence just listening to the radio chatter

 

He smiles a little. Because, for once, he actually can’t wait to be part of something like a family gathering. To feel included as a part of something. Rather than watching as an outsider as everyone else enjoys the holiday save for him.

 

He’s met most of Flo’s family. Fix-it Thursdays were mostly responsible for that. They’d be drinking whisky on the porch when her son Mike drops by, to drop off some gardening stuff for Arthur. Or he’s there fixing a rain gutter on the porch when May brings Daisy over after school for a few hours with Grandma and Grandpa. He’s met some of them before too. Bake Sale. Or at the Open air Movie event. Daisy still insists he’s a giant. He doesn’t deny it.

 

He’s looking forwards to a table groaning full of food. Being force fed by his second grandma. The one he loves just as fiercely. Spending time with Evie and with a family that’s beckoning him into their gathering with open arms. No questions asked.

 

He answers her question honestly.

 

“I think I might be.” He smiles. _And isn’t that funny?_

~

 

 

Evie and Kylo are chased into Flo’s place with a nipping wind curling at their heels. Burnt red leaves scuttling after their shoes. They’re all dressed up real nice for Thanksgiving. Bitter wind demanding winter clothes. Arms loaded with food dishes and offerings of wine bottles.

 

She holds his hand as they step up the creaking painted white steps. Leaves crunched damp and mossy underfoot. Air frigid with cold and cushioned with miserable damp grey. The sky is as chowder grey as yesterday. Heavy and cloying.

 

Even all that damp nature in the air. And he can still smell her balmy amber-gold perfume from a mile off. He loves it. Loves knowing all the sweet secret places that musk settles on her skin.

 

His brawny tall, fighter of a figure is in dark jeans and casual Barbour black boots. A soft button down the colour between dove and mink grey. Sleeves rolled comfortably to his elbows. A big chunky Breitling quartz watch on his right tatted wrist. He smells divine. And looks ten times as such.

 

She’s looking awful pretty too. To his eyes atleast. An angel in a gauzy white dress. She’s wearing an embroidered white dress. Sheer sleeves. All knotted, stitched and rained with white flowers. With a ruffled lace front and a high collar. Like something off the set of little house on the prairie. She bravely left her legs bare save for little wisps of beige stockings. Chunky mustard heels on her feet. But she’s plenty warm. She’s wrapped up in her big blue Burberry coat. And she’s got him and his smile and big hot hands and blazing black gaze to keep her warm if all else fails.

 

They don’t knock. They’d been burned by that before. Flo doesn’t care to stand on ceremony. They let themselves in, toe’s just over the lip of the threshold, and almost right away the bustle of Thanksgiving, family and cooking food smacks into them like a brick wall.

 

Everyone hollers hello at the newcomers as they wipe their feet on the bristly spiked doormat. All the guys were crowded in the den, beers in hand, football game blaring through the flat screen. They all call in their hello’s. Mostly glued to the TV. 

 

Evie is quickly bombarded by kids, and dogs, at waist height who all pile on to give her a hug or fuss for attention. She foists her cooking on them to carry to Flo in the kitchen. But says she’ll keep the wine to herself as a joke. Kylo helps peel her out her coat. Taking his off aswell, hooking them both on the wall by the door. Strung with piles of coats already. The whole clan was here.

 

“Get in here you two...” Flo calls warmly from the kitchen. They go right on in together. Their little matriarch is at the stove with ruddy cheeks. Stirring a big boiling bubbling pot of potatoes. Flo throws her arms up for a hug. They each get a crushing one from her little frail arms. Deceptively strong.

 

Kylo gets rammed into a hug. Then it’s Evie’s turn. It’s a good ten minutes getting through greeting everyone. Everyone’s huggers in this family - All five of Flo’s grown kids, and their assorted offspring. Evie doesn’t quite know how it happens - but she goes to stick her head in the den doorway to say hi to the guys. And when she comes back out, who does she find, hemmed in, squeezed at the little chairs on the craft table with all the kids?

 

Kylo of course.

 

Daisy sat right next to him, flanking his left. In her stripy white and navy shirt and her orange dungarees with a fox on the front pocket. Blue bows in her long hair. Face all cherub sweet with rosy cheeks, a gap smile and big doe eyes. Clearly, the redoubtable kid was as much a bossy stern battle axe as her Grandma. Able to get the six foot three mountain of muscle to do what she wants. _Oh_ , no one can say ‘ _no’_ to Daisy.

 

He’s crammed there concentrating on creating some fall decorations to go around Flo’s house. Red orange and yellow paper. Some baubles to go on the tree too. Currently they’re making paper handprints to hang on the tree. They’ll make garlands, and paper chains and all sorts. The hand prints are truly special however. Everyone’s in the family’s sits on the tree. Flo even has the dogs paws stamped in paint, tied with ribbon on the tree too.

 

It’s for _family_ _._

 

Flo’s tree currently looks like its had a badly horrific collision with a craft store and a tonne of tinsel. Red, gold all explodes swarmed on the tree with baubles, beads, ribbons. Twinkle lights stay static on the prickled moss green branches. The whole tree glows with it.

 

Daisy’s currently holding his gigantic hand to a piece of paper. Whilst Eddy and Zack struggle to draw around the huge thing. The span of his fingers almost takes up the entire page.

 

She loves how he’s just easy-breezy with it. Let’s then do whatever the hell they want with him. It makes her heart all warm and fuzzy to see him like that. She crosses her arms and leans on the kitchen doorway. She smiles wider when she overhears their conversation. Through the din of Flo barking orders in the kitchen. Through the game blaring through the telly.

 

“How old are you?”

 

Kylo thought for a second. “How old do you think I am?”

 

“85?” Eddy answered.

 

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs with a smile. Unaffected.

 

Helping Daisy scribble around his big fingers. Of course, now he’d indulged them in answers. The questions would never cease. Eddy, Zack and Daisy will plague him like _hell_.

 

“Your arms are big. Are you strong?”

 

“Fairly strong.” Kylo answers.

 

“ _How_ strong?” They seek.

 

Kylo makes a so-so face. “Kinda strong.” He intones. Not telling them how immense his strength really was. Downplaying it.

 

“How strong is kinda strong?” Zack adds.

 

“Uh... a bit.” Kylo flounders. But before he answers. Minnie, May’s little five year old speaks up from across her seat on the table.

 

“Could you lift a car?” Minnie asks.

 

“Probably not.” He says.

 

“A horse?” Daisy adds on.

 

“Definitely not.” Kylo tells.

 

“A zebra?” Zack says excitedly.

 

“That's the same thing, just with stripes.” Kylo points out with a drawn back smile.

 

“A rhinoceros?” Minnie giggles.

 

“I don’t think anyone’s strong enough to lift a rhino on their own.”

 

“Not even a baby one?”

 

“Not even then.” Kylo answers

 

By now he is carefully cutting out his handprint. Easing the tiny plastic kid scissors around the line of his drawn hand. His big fingers fumble a little on the minuscule things. He can barely get his thick fingers through the loops. But he manages.

 

“I like your drawings.” Daisy pipes up. Looking at his tatted Forearms. Sitting up in her seat. “Were you born with those?” She adds.

 

“I wasn’t.” He explains. “I got them when I was much _much_ older than you guys.” He says.

 

“I wanna get some!” Zack asks. Coming to stand, shooting around the table, right by Kylo’s side and peering curiously at his arm. All the swirled ink and patterns and things that lived static on his skin. Twining twisting up his hands. He particularly eyes the skull on Kylo’s arm with interest.

 

“Cooool.” He says. In a daze. In awe. Touching his arm gently. 

 

Kylo’s looking at this kid with a smile. He loves how they’re all instinct. Their nature is completely unpretentious. No bullshit. They tell it to him how it is. And it’s been a long time since he felt like someone was admiring him.

 

This was the first time Evie’s ever seen something akin to panic flash across his eyes. How he didn’t want to be responsible for all these kids running out to get tattoos the minute they turn 18.

 

“Well. I had to ask my mom if it was ok, first. You gotta ask your mom, or, your Grandma. If they both say yes. Then you’re good to go get some.” He relents. They nod in unison.

 

“Grandma would never let me get one.” Zack says sadly.

 

“You’re done.” Daisy announces proudly. He looks down on the hand he’s cut out. He leans over and helps her stab a hole in it to loop some ribbon through to hang it up.

 

“Now we just have to write your name...” Daisy tells him. He’s a six foot three ex-con. She’s 8 years old. Barely comes to his hip. And she’s _telling_ him. And he answers;

 

“Sure.” He smiles.

 

“I have three glitter pens.” She informs. “Purple, silver or gold.” He gets a choice.

 

“Purple.” He says. Why not.

 

“I like purple.” Daisy adds.

 

”Do you like purple?” She asks.

 

“It’s ok.” He answers.

 

Kylo holds his ‘hand’ steady for her. She starts with a wobbly, loopy K.

 

He spells it out for her. K for Kitten. Y for Yacht. L for lion. O for Octopus.

 

“Your names weird.” Eddy says.

 

“My parents were weird.” He answers with honest mirth.

 

“Do you have siblings? I have siblings. I have a baby sister. She’s not born yet. Her names gonna be Lily.”

 

“Lily is a good name.” He agrees.

 

“ _Do_ you have any brothers or sisters.”

 

“Unfortunately I have a brother.” Kylo tells them all.

 

“What’s his name?” Zack enquires.

 

“Ben.” He offers.

 

“That’s a boring name.” Zack then adds. “Do you like your brother?”

 

“No. He’s not a very nice person. In fact he’s....very....annoying.” Kylo says calmly. Shaking a silver glitter pen and concentrating to help draw some silver flowers with Daisy on his paper hand.

 

Evie’s smothering a giggle behind her hand. Flo hands her some wine and they watch from the doorway at this odd craft table discussion. With Kylo’s decoration finished, Daisy races across to the tree and speculates where it can go. There was room right at the tippy top of it.

 

He sees this - comes to a stand. Towering over all the kids as he lumbers across to the tree. “Where do you want it?” He asks her. Peering down from his vast height.

 

Daisy eyes a spot up near the star. One branch is sparsely free of tinsel and decoration. That’s the spot daisy wants Kylo’s decoration to crown. Kylo gestures her near. “Come here.”

 

She steps close and he hoists her up. Both big hands under her armpits. Lifting her right up. She laughs in delight hooking his name onto the family tree. Taking all the time she needs. She giggled as he sets her down on the floor again. By which point, four kids, two retrievers and a bloodhound are all clamouring excitedly at his knees. Minnie wins. Cause she’s the littlest. She asks for help putting up the paper leaf decoration she made earlier that morning.

 

Evie steps into the room for a second. By which point, Minnie Is nearly halfway up the tree - and Kylo. Evie cradles her wine in one hand. Coming over to everyone all gaggled around the tree.

 

“Hey Minnie Mouse. You’re up awfully high.” She smiles at the kid. Zack and Daisy excitedly explain. Overlapping each other to talk to her. Dragging her by the hand over to the tree. Standing her next to Kylo. They ask her to help make decorations with them. She smiles that she’d love too.

 

Minnie’s now happily sat on the prime spot of being on his shoulders. Laughing with glee. He’s just so tall. And they’re fascinated by this big dark man with his cool ‘arm drawings’. And the way he doesn’t talk down to them. Treats them like adults. Doesn’t patronise. It’s just not in his nature. He talks straight. He likes that kids do the same. 

 

Kylo tilts his head to her. Minnies legs dangling either side of his big ears. Hands like little pink starfish tangled in his hair.

 

“I think you have a fan club.” Evie smiles to him.

 

“You reckon?” He banters back. Smile growing. Swooping and dropping his knees to make Minnie laugh. “Let me know if you hit your head or something tinkerbell.” He says to her. She smiles that she’s fine. She was perilously close to the ceiling.

 

“Are you two married?” Eddy asks Evie.

 

She smiles across at Kylo. Blushing. “Uh... _um_. No sweetie. We’re not.” She tells.

 

“You _sound_ married.” Zack points out quite dryly for a seven year old. Kylo’s smirking at her blush.

 

“Grown ups can be together without being married like moms and dads.” He smirks. “It’s actually kinda fun.” He leers at her.

 

“How is it fun?” Daisy asks curiously.

 

Evie’s cheeks could almost match the shimmering garnet red tinsel strung all over the tree.

 

“I’ll tell you when you’re old enough, poppet.” Evie squeaks. She shakes her head slightly at his bravery.

 

“That’s dinner, folks.” Flo hollers from the Kitchen. The kids rush through to wash up. Kylo’s lowers Minnie to the safe height of the floor once again.

“Be seeing ya, monkey.” He says as she scampers off smiling, after hugging his leg.

 

He freezes a little when she hugs him. Stiffens up that such a sweet little thing was giving him affection. He pats her head. They smile at each other after she totters off.

 

“I hope you’re ready to be insanely well fed. That table is _groaning_ with food.” She says. Stepping close and stroking his hair. Thumb grazing across his ear. His gaze at her is fond.

 

“I could eat.” He explains.

 

“I think you might just be Daisy’s new favourite person.” Evie laughs.

 

He smirks. “Fine by me.” He reaches to take her hand. Seeing her yellow paper decoration - with gold glitter pen thank you very much.

 

“She has _very_ good taste.” Evie smiles. On tip toes to kiss at his cheek. Nuzzling into him.

 

“I don’t know about all that.” He says off hand. But his smile is simmering. Eyes are honey-charcoal warm. He slings his hands around her waist.

 

“I do.” She holds firm.

 

“I do however, know _one_ thing...” He smirks.

 

“Which is?” She flirts.

 

“You’re never gonna stop being _my_ favourite person.” He tells her. Pressing a kiss to her lips.

 

“I think I can live with that.” She teases. Faking disappointment. She grabs his hands.

 

“Come on. Foods getting cold. And Flo’s probably itching to load you up a mountain of turkey and mac n cheese.” She explains. Leading him to the dining room.

 

He twitches a brow. “Good thing I’m hungry.” He informs. They come to the dining room and Flo is grinning as she shoves a literal piled plate of food in his arms.

 

“I don’t think you’ll ever be hungry again.” Evie grins. Taking a plate from Joe with turkey on. Thanking him after. “Not in this family.” She adds.

 

And that hits right in his chest like a shotgun bullet. It shatters and crackles at him like studded buckshot.

 

“I hope so.” He lets out with a softly-unassuming smile.

 

Flo barks at Kylo. “Come on big guy. Here, have some stuffing. You look too skinny and hungry...” Comes that staccato command.

 

Evie’s laughing. And he wants always want to be around that laughing smile.

 

Kylo tucks in on pain of death as she spoons more food at him.

 

“Come on big boy. _Don’t_ make me come over there.” Flo warns. Wagging a finger in caution at him.

 

 

~

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s it treating ya? 💕


	44. Falling & Losing: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a pure mood ™
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/track/4Xw8i2gNrvpz9OGAR9YMsu?si=VehyHaPGSx-1fnTUsTxkZg
> 
> Also, I feel like the words ‘sorry’ should come out my mouth?
> 
> Tw: violence, gore and blood and knives in this chapter. Proceed daintily lovers

 

 

 

 

This wasn’t the first time Kylo’s been sat morosely in a police station. Covered in blood.

 

His white shirt garishly stained with it. Blossoming like big garish red petals up his ribs. On his sleeves. Cuffs. It’s everywhere nearly. Drying rusty, caked on his hands. His fingers. There’s even some on his cheek, and his temple. Swiped up on his forehead and smudged his cheekbone.

 

A lone line of an ancient tear stain cuts through the blood. A dark scarlet blur marring his face. Cut savagely in two.

 

Someone’s made a valiant attempt to scrub it away. But it’s stuck. It’s there. Dried on his skin. Clinging to him.

 

Though his dark trousers don’t show it, they too are sticky-stiff with the same viscous. His big black thick pea coat thankfully covers most of the nightmarish state of him. But it does nothing to warm up the frigid ice cold of his blood. His eyes are the blackest and sharpest they’ve ever been. Like knives carved out of obsidian stone. Freshly sharpened with whet stone. One look could slice skin.

 

But maybe that’s just the revulsion at the Detectives that carted him here. To a place, and situation he seldom wanted to re-visit.

 

He’s left alone for a while - left to stew - in a lifeless grey interrogation room. The walls are a drab dark granite. It smells like stale coffee and old dirty carpets. It’s cold. Too cold. Bitter.

 

This isn’t a place designed or intended for comfort after all. It’s meant to make most men sweat. And it doesn’t work on him. It just rattles him.

 

There’s one mirror taking up the wall opposite him. He doesn’t look at his pitiful reflection. He can’t. He’ll see all the failings and flaws in his own scarred reflection. Like he always used to.

 

He sits there. Dead quiet. With his head bowed. Glaring with hatred at his big, static hands. Resting on the surface before him. They put a tiny styrofoam cup of water near his hands reach. He didn’t want it.

 

He hates how his body is too big to comfortably rest on the spindly chair.

 

He’s cuffed onto the silver table. Hating the way that familiar pinch of silver bites his too-big wrists. It feels raw and cold on his skin. It hurts. And he barely notices.

 

He is empty. And drawn back. And so so fucking _sickened_.

 

This brought back Silver Pine in a very real way for him. Déjà Vu. He was starting to hear the slam of cell bars. The clink of shackles. The stench of institution washing starch and scratchy shitty fucking orange.

 

The number, 623859. The one they slapped on his chest like he was a damn zoo exhibit. Those memories felt like a rabid animal gaining on him. Glimmering slobbering, gnashing teeth ready to sink it’s bite into his arm. Hysteria and anger threatened to crash over him at the thought of all that, all over again.

 

He shuts his eyes and swallows. Crushing down his paranoia. Shutting it out. But not getting rid of the bone deep dynamite rage that makes him want to burst out these fucking cuffs and eviscerate this whole dank room. Wants to tear everything apart. Everything, everything, anything.

 

It’s true - Kylo’s been in this situation before. Four years ago. Only this time, it’s so much worse. Because here, now, he’s got so many more things to lose.

 

The door opens and in stride the two Detective’s who’d cuffed him and brought him here. Detective Lloyd. And Detective Banks.

 

Lloyd was a tubby man with only a balding grey ring of hair left on his head. His eyes were steely- hard and gave nothing away. Kylo thinks if he had to spend all day staring at petty shitty criminals. He’d have that same haggard look too. The same cheap wrinkled grey or mushroom brown suit. The same lacklustre expression. The tedium of being a paper pusher. Writing report after report. Surviving on pathetic weak coffee and Davidoff lights. Judging by the stench that clings to the portly man’s clothes. Rustles when he moves. Makes the musty-sharp cigarette scent bloom stronger.

 

Banks is different than his partner. He’s a scraggy, lean man. Tall. Broad in the shoulders. Spiked grey hair and clear clear blue eyes like polished cerulean marbles. They stand out his tanned weathered face. His suit is still cheap though. They’re obviously working hard tonight. Both down to shirts and loosened ties. Sleeves rolled. Banks is wearing his tan holster as he steps in the room behind his partner.

 

They come in. Faces glum. Shutting the door behind them with a thud. Telling of the atmosphere. They shuffled across to the table and sit down opposite him. He watched their reflections all settle into the big silver two way mirror opposite. Knowing more officers probably lurk behind it. Gazing in on the morbid trapped monster within.

 

He raises his eyes to look at the two detectives opposite. They stare back at him the same cautious disinterest.

 

They’re holding his file. That probably means everyone in the station just flipped their shit on seeing his previous record.

 

Kylo glances at it. Knowing full well all the horror filled things that’ll be written in there about him. He calmly, slowly looks from the file, up to Banks chilling icy eyes. Standing stark from his tanned face.

 

They state their names for the purpose of the tape recording them all.

 

“You’ll know by now why we bought you in for questioning.” Banks starts.

 

Kylo’s doesn’t answer. Drops his eyes to the file again. And the continues in his line of silence.

 

“You were at the scene. You’re covered in blood. With your history? It’s not hard to come to an obvious conclusion.” Lloyd says.

 

“Just a lazy one.” Kylo snipes lowly to Lloyd. Voice like venom. Eyes like knives. He slices looks into both Detectives.

 

“The hospital made a call to us concerning the injuries on the victim. As well as the visceral... _ferocity_ of the assault.”

 

Kylo stares his black ice stare. Unmoved. Locked down.

 

He wasn’t saying another word til his lawyer got here. Let them ask their intrepid questions. Let them make a monster out of him. Set the hounds on his treads. Paint him the demon of this piece.

 

After all - he is literally the perfect candidate. The man with blood always on his hands.

 

“You gonna clam up til your high priced attorney gets here, right?” Lloyd digs. Kylo can sense the man’s hatred of him. The feeling is mutual.

 

Kylo traces his thumb over a groove in the tables scratched surface. Follows it with the round of his bloodied nail.

 

“Or are you gonna cooperate with us?” Lloyd adds.

 

Still he says nothing. Doesn’t budge an inch. They’re getting nothing but his silence. And his rage.

 

Banks opens the folder. Leafs through reports and doctors evaluations. All the bureaucratic nonsense piled in there. All the little diagnosed truths and loathsome nitty gritty of his true character. His basest nature.

 

“You’ve got quite the criminal record.” He goads. Trying to make conversation. Rag on Kylo’s sore point.

 

It won’t work. Not tonight.

 

“You wanna give us the facts of what happened tonight?” Lloyd bristles at him.

 

Kylo stares again.

 

“You know Detective. I pay my lawyer an awful lot of money. I think I’ll let him speak the _facts_ for me.” Kylo snaps coldly. Knowing Hendricks will soon bring in the truth on a platter. Free him from this miserable hell-mouth.

 

“Mr. Ren. I do not appreciate your candour.” Banks growls.

 

Kylo’s eyes glitter at him. Shaded by the brim of his dark hair. His expression was lethal. Enough to convince the Detectives he was the exactly the kind of killer they’re hunting for. As cold as the vacant black place that sheltered his nonexistent heart.

 

“You were arrested and are being held for questioning, in connection to the aggravated assault and attempted stabbing of Evelyn Winslow. The attack occurred tonight, at approximately 06:43. Do you have anything to add to our enquiries?” Banks states matter-of-factly.

 

Kylo meets his eyes. And the awful silence drags on.

 

 

 

 

 

~ _4 Hours Earlier_ ~

 

 

 

 

Evie was feeling very festive at Kylo’s tonight. The fires on. She’s put some Ella Fitzgerald Xmas music on his speaker system. Blistering wind roars quiet outside the big thick windows. Rattling and shaking the garden and the trees. Shattering dismal spitting little drips of rain freckling across the glass. Like bursting grey stars. Fighting to get in.

 

She’s stood on the sofa. Pinning some tastefully cute Xmas decorations up on the bookshelf in there. She had two spiced clementine candles sat on their new home in a glass vase on the coffee table. She’s humming along to Ella with a smile. Thinking of Kylo’s face when he sees her all little festive adornments.

 

The sleek black mantel she’s decorated with a big garland. Bay leaf and eucalyptus. Made it herself for his house. She’s twined it with little twinkle lights that catch the light like raindrops on a sunny glass window. Two big wooden stars in a worn grey, she leans them up against the wall.

 

And she hangs two stockings from the fireplace. Grey knitted ones that she and Flo had worked on. Their names stitched on them both in white thread. She smiles and turns her head. Seeing them happily hanging near the merry blood-orange glow of the fire.

 

She’s in a cosy mood. In her too big oatmeal jumper. Grey leggings and big fuzzy knit socks. And of course his pendant silver and proud around her neck. She adores the run up to Xmas. All the twinkle lights and decorations going up. Kylo’s coming home from the office early tonight. They’re going to go pick out their Xmas tree. She wonders how much he’s going to roll his eyes when he sees how she’s wound twinkle lights around the shelves in his office. She was making her way through each room. Giving it that festive touch.

 

He really doesn’t mind - even though it’s no secret he’s such a grouchy grinch about Xmas. He’ll know she’s decorating things right from the off. She’s hung a berry, pine and holly wreath that Anna made for her, enshrined proudly on the front door. Mossy green dotted with red berries. And two red little Poinsettias flanking the porch.

 

She’s gonna crack open that frosty heart like a nutcracker and pour in some festive love. She’s gonna warm up his mood to festivities with fuzzy Xmas jumpers - because yes, Flo has knitted him one (I needed a _helluva_ lotta wool honey. Dang, our boy’s big) She’d only just managed to talk Flo out of not making it sing or flash. She’s going to make candy cane coffee. And gingerbread houses with all the fixings. She’s gonna play Bing Crosby’s White Christmas until ears bleed.

 

She’s grinning so much in looking forwards to sharing this season with him. And not purely just because they can snuggle up under a quilt on the couch and watch hallmark Xmas movies. Maybe it’s because she’s stupidly in love with him- she can’t wait to share this family holiday with someone she adores.

 

She steps down from the couch. Standing back to admire the lights she’s hung. Dotted his shelves with a few ornaments from home too. And she’s got a box full of home made ones from her childhood to go on that big lovely tree when they bring it home tonight. She can practically picture it now. All happy - stood tall, green and reeking bright packs of pine. That leafy forest smell that only belongs only to Xmas.

 

She heads across to the kitchen island. Humming to Ella crooning ‘We Three Kings.’ Reaching for the bottle of red burgundy she’d started last night. She pours out a modest tipple of it into an angular domed glass. She’d give the mulled wine a miss, for now. She takes a sip and stands it down. Dragging the box of home ornaments close.

 

She looks into it with fond nostalgia. All those handmade dried garlands that she can remember making with her Mum. Things she made as a kid with wonky awful childish hands. Made with Grandma too. Rustled old paper chains and aged patterned paper snowflakes. And all those thin frail Victorian baubles that had been passed down from Grandmas side. Been in the family for years. The most beautiful mercury glass baubles with red velvet ribbon for hanging. She was always so careful with these prized items. She strokes a thumb across the worn-speckled glass.

 

Xmas always seemed a time to recollect family. Memories for her. Opening presents. Tearing wafer thin paper off her always small but meaningful bundle of presents. Grans succulent toast turkey. With sage stuffing. Log fires spitting smoke and chilly toes and plaid pyjamas and that redoubtable excitement on Christmas Day.

 

All that from a silly bauble - she sighs and sets it back in the protective red silk lined compartment box where it lived. She hugs the box close. Thinking it pitiful that it’s all she had left of Mum and Gran now. She walks with the box cracked in her arms, and sets it down on the couch. For the tree later.

 

Just as she does - there’s a knock at the door.

 

There it is. Over the din of Ella. A persistent scuffle at the door. She looks across to the hallway leading to the door. She pauses for a second, hesitating. But she turns around and steals a glance at the wicked blustery night out there.

 

She puts down the ornaments she’s holding and walks briskly over to the door. Peeping through the tall glass windows either side and she can see nothing but a tall shadow being cast on the wall next to him.

 

She pulls the heavy pivot door open and a cruel wind tries to batter the huge thing inwards. She only just holds onto it and looks upon the tall, thin man stood outside.

 

He was not as tall as Kylo’s towering stature. He’s reed thin. Swaying on the wind as he stands there in the open. Being battered by the elements. He’s got short sandy-brown hair. With pewter dark eyes that shine friendly. He’s in a suit with sharp tan shoes and a big overcoat. A leather work satchel folded tight across his upper body. He had several long rolls of paper folded under one arm. And Kylo’s company lanyard with a pass clinking his suit front, linked around his neck.

 

He smiles, wincing when she opens the door. Rain dripping in his face. She could already see the plans starting to droop. Mushy from the weather.

 

“Hi there-I’m, _uh_ , sorry to bother you but I’m from Kylo’s office. He asked me to drop over these plans...” He calls over the thrashing wind.

 

She blinks and smiles. Widens the door.

 

“ _Oh!_ Of course, please...” She gestures. Feeling bad that he’s been out there. On this dreadful night. All his plans getting ruined.

 

He smiles thankfully. And steps in the house. Dripping on the doormat. Hair pasted wet dark to his head. Water drips off his sharp nose. His cheekbones slice across his face in the low light. He had a very thin, angular face. All linear bones and lines.

 

He awkwardly smiles. His shoes squelch as he steps on the doormat.

 

“Sorry about this! I _uh_ -“ He laughs. Wringing out his tie. Jersey accent thicker than the rain behind him. “Didn’t check the weather report this morning.” He smiled. Evie didn’t notice how his face didn’t quite let the light reach his eyes.

 

“It’s alright. I hope the plans made it.” She says. Dipping to a crouch to pick up one he dropped. She hands it back to him. His hand is clammy cold ice when it brushes hers.

 

“Come in. Please, It’s warm and I don’t want to be held responsible for letting one of Kylo’s employees freeze to death. Can I get you a coffee? Tea?” She asks nicely.

 

He shakes his head. Hesitant. “I really shouldn’t. I don’t wanna impose...” He holds out.

 

“Honestly, it’s _no_ trouble.” She assures him. Smiles. _All smiles._

 

He seems to come around. “Ok, yeah sure. That’d be nice. Thankyou-“ He trails up at the end of his sentence. Seeking her name.

 

“ _Oh_. Call me Evie.” She beams.

 

“Sam.” He answers. “I better put these in the study...whereabouts is it...” He asks.

 

She shows him. Pushing open the door. On the perfectly Kylo space that overlooks the dark drive. The wind still howls. The rains lashing at the windows now. Ripping down the glass.

 

“I’ll put the kettle on.” She smiles. “You look like you could with some warming up.” She says brightly.

 

Crossing back through the big open dining room into the kitchen. She turns down the volume on Ella and fetches a mug from the cupboard. She glances across and sees him laying plans down on Kylo’s desk when she fills the kettle from the tap. Shuts the lid. When she looks up, he’s slowly walking softly stealthily across to the kitchen to join her. His treads are almost silent.

 

“Can I get you a cup of something?” She offers again.

 

“Coffee would be great.” He smiles widely. Grey eyes shining morbidly bright. Standing with his hands in his coat pockets. He sets his satchel down on the floor by the end of the island. The clip scrapes the tiles.

 

She sets Kylo’s coffee machine into motion. Clicking off the kettle. Not needing hot water from it now.

 

“Wicked night out there.” She says in deprecation of the miserable November weather.

 

“It is.” He agrees. Watching her. Where she’s left her phone out on the end counter. His hand covers it. Slipping it into his pocket.

 

She turns her back to him and sets the mug in front of the coffee machine and turns back to him. Giving it a minute to kick into life.

 

“What department do you work in?” She asks. Sidling over to her glass of wine. Curling her fingers around it. Leaning against the end of the kitchen counter. Stood not far away. Facing him.

 

“I work in the residential department.” He says. _Lies_.

 

“Houses and Apartment blocks.” He adds. Evie nods.

 

“Must be a very difficult job. Combining aesthetic and function.” She smiles. Taking a sip of her wine.

 

“I like the work.” He tells slowly. Eyeing up the kitchen and the lounge. Silver calculative eyes assessing the space. Almost judging it.

 

“This looks like Kylo’s kinda place.” He says in a low thought. Evie didn’t pick up on the hair-raising revulsion in his voice.

 

She looks around at the big windows. Vaulted ceiling. Stark white walls. They should’ve felt cold. Clinical. Barren. But with a fire going inside. Twinkle lights glittering. Those big glass windows feel cosy to be huddled inside. Especially on that couch, with Kylo’s big safe arms around her. That’s when this house is at its cosiest, to her.

 

“I suppose it does.” She agrees. “I know he’s itching to move soon. New build. I know this house had a lot of bad memories associated with it. But I must admit this house is... sort of...growing, on me.” She tells.

 

He’s staring at her. Unblinking. Fiddling with her phone in his pocket. She has no idea. His grip is iron on her phone.

 

“Great plot. Hell of a view.” He says. Stabbing a look into her. Smile fading a little.

 

She turns back. Smiling. Rains tapping at the windows now. Rapping. Striking harsh down the glass.

 

She steps back across the coffee machine. Putting her back to him. She goes to the coffee machine and pours him a brewed mug of the dark fragrantly strong stuff.

 

While she’s turned away. Stirring the cup with a spoon. “Sugar or cream?” She asks. He takes the phone out and scrolls through contacts. He finds Kylo’s. Presses it. Turns the volume right down. Sets it innocently on the table behind him.

 

“Neither.” He says. She walks the mug over and hands it to him. He smiles gratefully. Says nothing. Just fixes his silver eyes on her.

 

“What time is he home?” He asks curiously. Sipping over the rim of the mug. Eyes still unblinking. Still obsessed with watching her closely.

 

“He’ll be on the way home by now. Why don’t you stay until he arrives? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” She offers.

 

She puts her back to him again. He can’t help it.

 

“I doubt it.” He smirks. Voice finally revealing and bitter. He sets down the coffee on the dining table. Excitement and anticipation burning gnawing at his stomach.

 

She’s walking back to kitchen counter. Turning for her wine. She pauses. _What an odd thing to say._

Puzzled. She looks around her shoulder.

 

“He’ll be driving right about now. In his Aston DBS Superleggera. Just turning from Franklyn Boulevard onto the highway. Going north.” He says lowly.

 

Evie’s blood chills to ice. Sloshing around her body. Hair needles straight on her neck. Pricking her skin up clammy, awful.

 

She swallows watching him snap off the lanyard from around his neck. Chucks it to the table. It clatters there just like the terrified clattering of her heart.

 

“It’s amazing where a company name on a pass can get you.” He says.

 

“You practically begged me in.” He says lightly. Chuckling. Scanning her up and down. “Holy shit I wasn’t expecting it to be _that_ easy.”

 

Evie staggers back to the counter. Her elbow knocks her wine. She lets it smash. Let’s the glass break. She doesn’t care. She lets the shards pierce on the counter. Listens to the ruby dark wine spill on the floor.

 

“Who are you?” She asks terrified. Chest pounding with terror.

 

“It takes him 25 minutes door to door. For him to get from the office to here. I checked it.” He smirks.

 

Evie wills her eyes not to water. Her lip not to tremble in fear. She’s stiff. Frozen. She doesn’t know how she’ll ever move again.

 

“Why would you...” Panic is fizzing hot in her blood like champagne. Her cowardly tongue didn’t want to move. Mouth sticky with fear. “...Do that?”

 

“To calculate how much time it gives me alone, here with you.” He smirks. Her spine is a highway of sickened humming thrashing nerves.

 

She was mistaken. His smile isn’t charming. It’s superficial.

 

His eyes aren’t silver. They’re just, _dead_ and grey and terrible.

 

And then she watches as he draws a knife out of his pocket. She’s shrinking back into the kitchen. Breath rattling her chest in hysteria. She’s shaking her head. She thinks she’s begging. She can’t hear herself speak.

 

“By my count, I have twenty minutes with you. Pretty thing.” He snarls.

 

Advancing slowly. Stalking her backwards. She was trapped. Hemmed in by the kitchen. She’s crying now. Only knows it when she hears herself sob. Wet salt on her cheeks. Stinging her eyes.

 

“Oh, you won’t be such a pretty thing for Kylo by the time I’m _done_.” He snarls. Curling fingers slowly around the large Bowie knife in pleasure. Almost moaning the threat at her. Purring.

 

His smile glimmers white and sharp. He comes closer. Jerking his tie loose. Evie sees a neck tattoo where his shirt comes undone. A bright old red scar right across his neck. Looked like someone had once tried to kill him. She knows who that might’ve been. He hurls the tie to the tiled floor. Looms ever closer.

 

She tries to sneakily get the broken stem of the wine glass in her hand. Keep it secret so he wouldn’t see. It could be her weapon.

 

“Now don’t be disappointing.” He croons. Tilting his head. Jaw ticks. She tries to dart around the counter for her phone.

 

He’s close now. Too close. He strikes her across the face. One huge blow. Knocks her right to the floor. Face and mouth where he caught her bursting into sickening galaxies and blasts of pain. Swelling already. Stars swim hazy and blur her eyelids. Sticky wet fills her mouth, her nose. Her teeth cut into her cheek. The glass skitters out of her hand across the tiles.

 

Hot pennies and metal fills her tastebuds. She can taste salt and blood.

 

Her knees and hands ram into the floor where she falls. The fall smacking reverberating through her bones. Caught off guard. Pain pinching everywhere in her torso. Shards of wine glass cutting her knees. Slicing her forearms.

 

Her vision is spotty. Chalky and blurred. She turns her head, shredded in pain, to see those pointed tan shoes step into her vision. Head reeling from clash with the floor. She’s holding her torso with one hand. Trying to squirm away. Backed into the counter. On her knees.

 

She tries to speak but her mouth is too full. Too swollen. Blood dripping on her oatmeal coloured jumper. A cold hand yanks around her wrist and pulls her up. It feels like he’s ripping her arm off. Tugging grating down pain on her bones. She yells. She begs. She tries to elbow him off.

 

It doesn’t work. He throws her forwards into the counter. Shoves a fist in her side. Upwards. She feels a snap. Rib cracking kind of snap. She cries. Winces. Tries to scream but only air comes out.

 

She summons her last, little sacred modicum of strength and stomps hard on his foot. He reels back snarling and she attempts a break for it. Cursing her.

 

She runs, but doesn’t get far. She makes it to the dining room. He grabs her. Hits her face again. Then slamming her forward into the end on the table.

 

Grabbing her hair. Wrenching her head into the side. Bruising her face when he pushes her into the table surface. Everything on the table clatters with the force of her being rammed to it.

 

He pins her hand down and tucks up her jumper sleeve. She tries to squirm away. Panic coming up bubbling in her blood. She’s sobbing so loud. Scared and trembling in pain he’s abusing her into. Blood from her cut mouth and cheek is smearing onto the table.

 

She tries to yank her arm away. But is too late and not strong enough to stop him raking the tip of the knife down her arm. Cutting a long line down her.

 

“Your fucking boyfriend made me bleed. So now _I’m_ gonna bleed his little bitch dry.” He smirks over her yelps.

 

The pain and fire tearing up her arm from the deep knife cut. She can smell blood. That thick, raw copper smell. It turns her stomach. Her head is half full of pain and spots clouding her vision.

 

The metal presses now to her shoulder. His breath hitches in excitement. She squirms again. He rams another curled iron hard fist in her side to keep her quiet. She coughs. Wheezes. Drools even more blood and dripping salty tears to stain onto the table.

 

He speaks as he carves the knife through her shoulder. Cutting her lightly. Didn’t want the fun of this to be all over too quickly. “I planned this for so long...” he says as he watched her squirm, and cry and bleed.

 

“So _fucking_ long.” He adds. “I’ve watched him. Tailed him for weeks now. Watched him fuck you upstairs on that big bed. Watched him fall in love with you. Watched his shitbag Twin try and pull moves on you. And now I’m gonna hurt him the most painful way I can...” He smirks.

 

“I don’t know...” He smirks to himself. As if in thought. Running the knife down her spine. Watching it press the wool of her jumper.

 

“I wanted to slit your throat and leave you for him to find, on his bed.” He wets his lips.

 

Sweat now running down his brow. No secret that he was enjoying this. Watching how some of her hair lodged into the sticky blood on her face. She screws her eyes shut. Too scared to even cry out.

 

“...Because what has Ren done to deserve all this? He’s cut and sliced and carved his way through life. He’s killed and maimed and caused misery and pain. He can’t be allowed to enjoy this. Thinking he’s so far above power that no one will hit back.” He snaps.

 

“After I leave here tonight. He won’t take that for granted ever again.” He growls. “That arrogant fuck can finally know what pain _truly_ is.”

 

She mumbles and cries. Tries to plead for her life. But there’s too much pain and blood. She’s woozy. On a knifes edge of it.

 

She looks up the table. Blinking through the blackness that threatens to engulf her. Like a velvet black cloak settling heavy. Like curtains at the opera on the final scene. Sweeping in. Crushing her eyes. She sees her phone. She sees its on the line with someone. She stretches an arm out quick and tries to grab it.

 

Her eyes are blurred with tears. But she knows Kylo’s contact name when she sees it.

 

Her heart pounds in her chest. Heavy drawing kicking her pulse with pain.

 

She whines his name and cries and tries to reach it. Tries with every fibre of her being. He plucks it out her grasp. Chuckling.

 

“Aww.” He taunts. Slashed the back of her outstretched hand deep.

 

She re-coils and weeps. Completely defeated. Wailing. Nails raking down the tables wood surface. Blood slippery under her skin. Ringing around her dragging nails.

 

And Kylo could hear _every_ word. Every cut this man gave her. Every bruise and hit. Every cry and whimper.

 

He reaches over her and snatches the phone. Speaks into it.

 

“Think you better come home Ren. She’s in pretty bad shape.” He chuckles into the phone.

 

He presses the tip of the knife down into her arm. Holds the phone down to capture the scream.

 

“I’ll give you this. You picked a fucking pretty one. Little plain for my liking. Don’t know what she fucking sees in a heartless bastard like you.” He smiles down the receiver. Snapping at Kylo. Taunting the grizzly bear with a stick.

 

“Don’t know how pretty she’ll look with her throat cut from ear to ear.” He warns. “Sound familiar?” He provokes to Kylo like its their sordid little secret.

 

In a way, it was.

 

Evie hiccups a sob. She tries begging again. But her swollen tongue feels like fuzzy wool in her mouth. She tastes blood. Her face is sticky. He withdraws the knife from her right forearm. She’s covered in slashes and cuts. Jewels of glass stuck like shrapnel in her knees.

 

She doesn’t even see it when headlights swipe icy and cold, through the sheets of rain up the drive. Stark in the open plan room. Shining through the windows like a beacon. Can’t even hear the roar of the engine through the rain and wind. But it’s there and it cuts.

 

Her attacker starts to panic. Because he’d been planning so diligently on being alone with her. He could overpower her. That was the whole point of this. He can take her. Abuse her. Beat her.

 

No way in _hell_ he can overpower Kylo.

 

Something like panic flashes across his dead dull eyes and face. The room now lit icy by headlights on the drive.

 

“Get up.” He snarls quickly at her. Throws her phone away. Shatters it on the floor. Wrenches her up by her hair. Her body sags. Bleeding and woozy. Her knees are weak. He just leers snarling. “Get the fuck _up!”_ Shouting at her.

 

He drags her out into the open of the dining room. Hand on her throat with the knife. The other yanked in her hair. Blood’s seeping down her face. Staining her front. Her arms. Dripping from her mangled hands onto the floor. Her socked feet smear it on the grey tiled floor.

 

She grabs weakly onto his arm around her neck with the knife. Her visions swims between reality and black. But when she peels her bloodied eyes open. There he is. She could’ve sobbed with joy.

 

All six foot three broad of him. He’s just standing there like a statue in his dining room. In a dark suit and white shirt like some monochrome demon. Three feet away from them both.

 

His thick pea coat on. Collar turned up. But his hair and shoulders are ringing wet. His shirt is transparent spotted where it’s splattered right on down his chest. His hairs pasted slightly on his head. Tramped down by heavy rain.

 

His phone is clutched in his hand. Held limply down by his side. His face could rival a Greek god of war in its fury. His eyes are darker and stormier than the weather outside. Nothing moves save for his tugging and swelling big barrel chest as he breathes.

 

“Didn’t expect you home for this part...” He snarls into her hair. Lips sticking wet on loose strands of her hair. Putting his head tight beside hers. Knife pressing into her corded throat. Thumping with her terrified heartbeat.

 

Kylo looks like hell fury. Brimstone and fire blazing dynamite in his cold eyes. He was terrifying.

 

“I slit your throat once. O’Malley. I won’t fail to do it properly this time.” He promises. Eerily calm. Even though he felt like he was the one bleeding and dying. Woozy from rage.

 

“I’ll rip your fucking spine out your chest too, with my bare hands, for good measure.” He pledges.

 

O’Malley scoffs. “You’re not the one in charge here. Think you’ll find I have the knife.”

 

He scratches her neck to prove it. Drags out a drop of blood to bead down onto her jumper. Dribbling over his necklace on her throat. Staining the silver red.

 

Kylo didn’t recognise him. He’d dyed his hair sandy. Cut it too. He was still the same scrawny, lanky letch. Angular face. Shitty tattoos. Reminded him of a backstabbing, filthy sewer rat. He was put away for being a snitch for a drugs gang. Selling people out. An untrustworthy shitty little viper.

 

She yelps and tries to squirm away. Face so wet and bruised with blood and salty tears. He slaps a hand over her mouth and she cries over it. Kylo once loved the sight of her eyes all wide and terrified. But seeing them like this is like the feeling of having his lungs ripped out through a tiny keyhole in his chest.

 

Kylo’s jaw ticks. His muscles bunch. Veins straining out his forehead and his throat.

 

“You wanna hurt someone you parasite. Come over here and hurt me.” Kylo dares. He was itching to snap his neck. Watch his eyes bulge. Kylo wants blood for this.

 

O’Malley sneers. And it’s harrowing. “I am hurting you.” He explains.

 

He takes the knife, and buried it it Evie’s stomach.

 

Her eyes are so blue and white and wide. Like cresting waves churning on the ocean. Tears drip over his hand. He jerks the knife out and viscous syrupy red blossoms down.

 

Kylo’s eyes blur. He can’t feel himself moving but he is. He feels himself punched clean. Winded by this sight that’s tearing apart his bones. Horror and adrenaline shrieking through his head.

 

O’Malley darts for the door. Kylo doesn’t even realise he’d scarpered from the scene.

 

Is he shouting? Is that him pleading? It might be. He’s on his knees. She’s in his arms. He’s shaking. Trembling. Evie’s sobbing his name through bloody lips and a cracked gasp.

 

Her hands are quaking, quivering over the stabbed hole in her stomach. Kylo’s looming over her where shes lying. Crying out with her head thrown back. His tears drop onto her. And that’s when he realises he’s sobbing too.

 

“K-kyl...” She tries to gasp. Eyes wide, mouth gaping. Stuttering.

 

“It’s ok baby. It’s ok. I’m here. _Keep_ looking at me....Don’t speak.” He commands. Shakily trying to draw her through this. She looks up at him.

 

Her whimpers are like pins in his skin. He detests the sound of it. It crawls his skin.

 

“It hurts. _Oh_ god it hurts-I-I don’t want to die.” She cries.

 

“You’re not gonna die.” He repeats that. Reassuring her. Cupping her face with one hand. The other on her cut.

 

“Look at me. Keep those eyes open. Keep looking at me.” He urges her. His hand is sticky in blood on her neck. Leaving a huge handprint there.

 

He leans over on his knees and rips the clean teacloth off the front of the oven and lifts her jumper. Pressing it to the wound that’s oozing black-scarlet. Slipping over her stomach to sully the floor crimson.

 

She screams in pain. Thrashing. It’s blood curdling. Tears drop. His and hers.

 

“I know it hurts I’m _sorry_. I’m so sorry.” He kisses her hand. Not sure he’s just talking about the wound.

 

He leans over and cups her hand. Presses the back of it to his face. Kissing it. Looking at her face as he keeps pressure on the wound with his other hand. Her skin leaves a great bloody stripe of smudge on his cheek.

 

It makes him sick. Blood doesn’t phase him. It’s just the sheer horror of this being her getting hurt. The big diagonal slice dividing up her stomach. Right up to near her ribs.

 

_Look what he’s done to you, Kitten?_ His mind cries. Looking at the big gaping wound.

 

“I don’t want to leave.” She still sobs. His lip wobbles. Face wet with tears. He rests his forehead on hers. Hair draping over her cheek.

 

“I won’t let you.” He wails.

 

“Evie you hear me? I won’t let you die.” He promises. Deep voice cracking shattering like much too dry clay. He hates how her hands are getting colder and limper.

 

She’s slipping into shock.

 

“No _no!_ _Evie?”_ He says loudly. Yells it. Shaking her arm. Her voice crackles out her throat. Blood drips from the corner of those rosebud now red lips. Her eyes try and focus on him. But they’re blinking. Nearly shutting.

 

She’s lost so much blood tonight. Nearly too much.

 

She’s getting weaker. He takes her pulse in her wrist and finds it fluttering. Slowing. Like a dyings butterflies wings beating less and less. It’s still there. And she has to hang on.

 

_She has too._

_“No._ Evie. No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you leave me too. Don’t leave me alone. _Please_.” He curls her gently into his arms. Cradles her to his chest. Her head goes slack on her shoulders. He hugs her tight. So right. Trying to press his body into hers.

 

“ _God_. I love you. Evie.” He sobs. Tears sting from his eyes. Swiping through the blood on his face.

 

“I love you. You can’t leave me like this. I can’t do this without you.” He strokes her hair. Kisses her neck. His tears splash hot down her neck. Dribbling down. Her warm blood soaked into his coat, thighs and shirt.

 

She’s limp, and getting limper in his arms. Pretty oatmeal jumper all dripping stained sticky with red.

 

He presses more down on the wound. Tries to keep the blood to just stay. Fucking _stay stay stay_ where it is. She needs it. He needs her. He’s babbling words that he doesn’t even feel his tongue speak.

 

He can’t live without her. _He can’t._

 

Red lights streak up through the drive. Sirens blare and cut through the raining air. Gravel cracks under tyres. He rang 9-1-1 as soon as O’Malleys disturbed voice came through his car speakers on Bluetooth as he drove home.

 

He doesn’t even turn his head from her. He leans down. Rocks her gently with the way his hands tremble. He clutches her tight. Feeling her clammy little body against him. Hating the smell of thick fleshy raw copper blood lingering around her perfume. It stains his nose. He hates it.

 

“Please, baby. _Please_.” He says to her softly again. Strokes her hair. He begs. He doesn’t know what else to do. There’s nothing else he can do.

 

Hurried feet rush the gravelled drive. Big boots thumping. EMT’s storm the house shouting. Through the front door. In the foyer. Kylo doesn’t say a word to them. He carries on stroking her hair. Lip wobbling. Tears staining his face. Looking right into her unconscious, battered face. As if the rest of the world didn’t matter.

 

“ _Don’t_ you leave me.” He whispers once more. He’s ever begged for anything _so_ hard in his life. He prayed til his hands shook.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still like me at this point?


	45. Falling & Losing: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise this one hurts a bit less... 💕
> 
> Try ‘Blue Lights’ by the gorgeous Jorja Smith - honestly it’s just ugh 👌🏻 Perfecto

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He hates hospital waiting rooms. Maybe that stems from his childhood.

 

Mom, or Gran bringing Ben or him to get stitched up from one of Dad’s particularly violent episodes. Paranoia from nurses or doctors smiling falsely at him. When they were really trying to ask how he got so badly hurt. That hint of suspicion in their voices. Telling him what a brave kid he was.

 

He doesn’t feel very brave now.

 

He clung onto her hand in the ambulance. Clutches it as hard as he can. Hoping he’d feel her squeeze him back. She’s just laying there. Limp and awful and bleeding and pale. She’s barely responsive. But she’s still breathing.

 

He’s crammed onto the little fold out seat opposite. He doesn’t take his eyes off her. More tears slide quiet and slow from his black eyes. The lights and sirens outside blare red and loud. _So fucking loud._ They’re racing through the night, he’s getting bumped and rocked and he’s just watching the EMT’s careful hands attend to her.

 

He really thinks he might have lost his last lingering scrap of sanity when even they start telling the driver to step on it. And call in a crash team the minute they get to the hospital doors.

 

His worried black eyes meet the paramedics. He says they need her in the OR as soon as they touch down. Kylo swallows. Looking over to her.

 

They’ve put a drip in her arm already. Goading it through the nasty big needle jammed in the back of her hand. There’s blood and something else clear hung up being fed into her nearly lifeless body.

 

“We’ll do our best for her buddy. She’s hanging in there.” He tries to reassure Kylo. Touching his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. He thinks he nods. He can’t remember.

 

He just looks at her small limp little hand in his. He raises the back of it to his lips. And she’s so cold. It shatters his heart. Tears and sticky dry blood mingle on her pale skin. He doesn’t care. He kisses it.

 

“Be alright. _Please_ be alright for me.” He wills in a soft whisper on her skin. He’ll never stop saying it. Or wishing it.

 

It’s all a blur when they reach the hospital. She’s taken swiftly out the ambulance. Swarmed by a team and whisked away on a gurney. Kylo’s stood there as her hand is ripped away from him as she’s taken away. He watches it as if in slow motion. Or behind a sheet of glass.

 

Anyone who assumed Kylo Ren didn’t have a heart, would very much mistaken.

 

Because he stood there in the pouring rain spitting overhead, outside the ER doors, watching it - his heart - get ripped away from him.

 

Someone, a nurse, he thinks, brings him inside. Advanced towards him with a cautious step. Six foot three and bloodied didn’t make for a very approachable figure. But she’s seen worse. She’s seen that forlorn anguished stare in family and friends before.

 

The look of people who’d do anything to save their loved one. He’d open his veins for her or give blood or his organs. Anything anything anything. He’d do it all for her if she needs it.

 

“Come on honey. Come wait inside.” She guides him gently. Hand on his arm. They were rushed off their feet tonight. But she sees that big hulking man just haunted. Stood there in the bitter cold and wet. She lays a kind hand on his arm.

 

He looks at her. Slowly lumbers inside. He’s just numb. Not there. He lets himself get manoeuvred through hallways and sounds of a busy ward shatter and break off his chest like water.

 

Drips beeping and alarms, and the hissing drag of curtains on rails being pulled. Coughs and groans and calls. And phones and the clack of keyboards. Pagers blurt, and doctors are being called over the tannoy.

 

He’s too preoccupied to take it in. It would usually fray at his system like sensory overload. Not tonight. His walls have come springing back up. He’s been hurt and that’s his defence.

 

She brings him to an empty little sitting area off the ward. The door squeaks as they walk through. There’s cheap laminate table piled with old magazines. A cheery plastic plant in the middle. A water cooler too.

 

He slumps into a seat. She’s looking down at him concerned. “You hurt honey? Any of that yours?” She asks him. Pointing to the blood.

 

He shakes his head. Staring off into space.

 

“No it’s my-“ His mouth turns burry. Like cotton wool. “It’s my-uh. My girls.” He rasps out. Voice shattering.

 

She nods. Making a face of kind compassion for him. “I’ll come find you when we have news. She’s in the OR now. Sit tight.” She says. Walking off. He hears the rustle of her scrubs and the squeak of her sneakers on the floor. Her sympathetic look stays with him.

 

That’s where he’s stayed. Hours pass. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if it’s night or day. If it’s been ten minutes or three hours. He’s sat on one of those hard, loveless plastic chairs that vaguely attempt comfort. But it fails him. He’s sat near the nurses station in a little alcove on the white, sterile trauma ward.

 

The lights too bright here. Too artificial. Too blinding white. Stinging and ripping at his eyes. The ringing phone and chattering voices makes his head spin. He sits with his elbows on his knees. Head bowed. Staring at the grey speckles on the lino.

 

His face is still wet. He realises it’s either rain. Or tears. Or drying blood.

 

He’s loosing his mind thinking of everything that could go wrong. She could slip away on that operating table. And he wouldn’t even be there to be by her side. She could be in pain. Calling out for him and he’s not there.

 

He screws his eyes shut. Willing such vile thoughts away. He rubs his fingers into his eyes sockets until he sees scratchy bursting heat and stars. His paranoia won’t stop yapping at him and he just wants something, anything to take it away and put some quiet in its place.

 

He finds himself praying. _The irony._ He’s never believed in there being a god. He knew that from the first day his Dad raised a hand to him.

 

He’s never had a faith. He knew that from the day he was imprisoned. No use muttering words to the heavens where no one could hear them, or act on them. He had to rely on himself. Just like always. Had to protect himself and watch his own back to ensure his survival.

 

But sat there, pain and terror pulling apart every strand of his being. Plucking at every fibre of his heavy set violent bones. The disenchanted, cold-hearted killer that he is - and he’s pleading to a god he doesn’t believe in to save her. To spare her. To _make her_  be alright.

 

Because if a doctor comes out. All care-work and weary. And starts telling him he’s ‘so very sorry but...’ Kylo doesn’t even know what will become of him.

 

He just knows it may very well be the end of him.

 

He’s listening to the soundtrack of the hospital carve on around him with his eyes shut. Head bowed to the floor. He hears shoes scuff the floor. The odd doctor or intern running past. Squeaking clatter of swinging doors being opened and shut.

 

He doesn’t look at his watch or go on his phone. He just sits there. Uselessly.

 

Useless to defend Evie. Useless to do anything now. He starts to believe what his father screamed at him all his childhood. That he was fucked up. He was a worthless waste of space and good for nothing. That he’d ruined their lives merely by existing.

 

He beginning to see that his dad had a point. He could hear him cackling at him now as if he was stood here before him. “ _What kinda weak-ass fucker can’t even protect his own girlfriend?”_

He scrubs his hands through his hair. Trying to scout out the memory of his awful haunting voice.

 

More footsteps pad along the lino. Shuffling along. Going somewhere else in this hospital. Away from him. Off to places to see their loved ones.

 

Only this time the shuffling comes closer. And closer.

 

“Kylo, Honey.” Comes a shaken broken imitation of Flo’s usually-staccato-barking-voice.

 

His head whips up. He remains sat down. Just watching Flo coming towards him. Big coat zipped up around her little body. Bag strap crossed over her chest. She’s dotted with rain. Had no makeup on her face. Her hair is wrestled artlessly off her face. And she’s in rumpled pyjamas and sneakers on her feet.

 

He blinks across at her. Swallowing down the stony sickness of grief in his throat. He stands up and Flo winces a frown at the damp state of him. Rain and blood bleeding blending into his white shirt. He rang her when they were in the back of the ambulance.

 

Her voice was wobbly-stoic down the phone. She’d never dare tell him how burst into tears of panic and anger when she put the phone down to him. Arthur had hugged her in comfort. Trying not to blub with worry himself. and brought the truck around right away. This was - for all intents and purposes - their kids for gods sake, their babies, who’d both gotten hurt tonight.

 

She moved briskly across to Kylo. Spring in her weary step. Her face is so pale Kylo can see the veins. The worry in the dark bags under her soaking grief filled eyes. Stricken with worry.

 

She comes and grabs his hands. Only when she touches him with her warm nobbled little fingers does he come to realise how cold he is. How much he’s still trembling with fear or anger or cold. He doesn’t know which.

 

She touches him. She squeezes his hand. And it’s like he just comes apart. Separates and floats to bits like a mirror being shattered into ten million dusty pieces of shimmering silver. His grief crushing him so finally.

 

She wraps him into a hug. Which is ridiculous really. She barely comes to his ribs and she’s the one yanking him down for a crushing hug. That’s what gets him.

 

The fact he wasn’t alone in this.

 

Words come spilling out his guilty lips before he can stop them. He can fall apart here. With Flo to pick up the pieces. He’s never had that before.

 

“I’m sorry I..” And then it all pours out. The dam breaks. “I’m sorry I tried to stop him. I. He-“ Before long he’s sobbing in her arms.

 

“I wish she never met me. This never would’ve happened if she’d never have met me. I’d be miserable for the rest of my life if it means she’s kept safe. I couldn’t even protect her in my own fucking _home_...” He cries. Spiralling.

 

She sits back and looks up at him. Trying to dab away his tears with a handkerchief embroidered with purple violets on it that softly scratches his skin.

 

“I’ve done some terrible things in my life Flo.” He tells her with tears rolling down. “I’ve done awful things and caused terrible pain. But I’ve _never_ done anything like that to someone. What he did to her...” He sobs.

 

“I couldn’t even stop him...” He sobs. Adam’s apple bobbing up in his throat. He bows his head. Ashamed. Picking at the dried blood around his fingernails.

 

Flo catches his hand. “Look at me sweetie.” She says softly. He raises his eyes. And Flo can see how much he looks like a scared little boy. Throat bobbing. Eyelashes wet. Big black eyes so afraid and big.

 

“You weren’t responsible for hurtin’ her darlin. That _foul_ piece of work is. But not you. You did everything you could. You are not responsible or to blame for any of this.” She says seriously.

 

Knowing very well that his traumatic childhood had left him with coping mechanisms that were quick to turn the hatred in on himself.

 

“She’d be better off without me.” He says quietly. Resigned to that simple fact.

 

“She don’t want that. She _chose_ you.” Flo places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“She loves you.” She adds. Saying it like it should be obvious.

 

Kylo looks at her.

 

“And look what that’s cost her...” He finalises. Flo cups his hand harder.

 

He shrinks back into quietness. She can’t know if her truthful words touched him or not. Or if he’s drawn up the emotional drawbridge once more.

 

“Wait until she’s out of of surgery. She’ll want you here when she wakes.” Flo promises hopefully.

 

_If she does wake up_. Kylo’s vile mind spits at him.

 

“What do I say to her...” He asks. Completely lost. Scared even.

 

“ _Oh_ , sweetie.” Flo’s voice cracks. They stare off down the ward as she clutches his big hand with her weak, aged little fingers. She fans away her own tears now.

 

“Just tell her that...” She sighs. “I’d say tell her you did everything you could. But she’ll know that already. She _knows_ you. Our girl knows and loves right down to  the very bones of ya.” She pledges.

 

He made a silent vow to himself once upon a time. That no one would ever cause her harm. He swore that ever since the first night he got out of prison and went for her. How can he ever look her in the eyes knowing how he failed her?

 

He doesn’t deserve Evie. Tonight has shown him that much. He wishes it didn’t. But he can’t ignore it any longer. This horror filled night has brought it into fruition.

 

“We just have to wait and hope for good news.” Flo says. Sniffling.

 

Kylo nods. But she can see his mind is elsewhere. Lost already in a maze of self hatred and paranoia.

 

Where they’re sat they have a clear shot down the ward. Kylo’s eyes watch everything. Kicked up to high alert. He watches as two official looking men stop at the desk and talk to some of the nurses and a doctor.

 

Kylo can tell from far off how grim all their expressions are. The medical staff are professionally grave. The two suited men. One tubby, one tall. Are wearing stony expressions. The ease of them telling Kylo it was part of their job description to look like that.

 

He sits up. Watching as she doctor points in his direction. Kylo watched them come closer. Rage and indifference blooming up in his chest like a storm cloud. He doesn’t shrink down. He stares them right both right down. Right in the eyes. No fear.

 

Flo frowns at them both. Affronted. The fierce patriarch emotion centre stage on her face. She looks between them.

 

“Can we help you?” Flo asks in a curious snap. Eyes narrowing. Holding Kylo’s hand. Practically hissing in guarding one of her kids so fiercely.

 

The two men pull out shimmering gold police badges. “I’m Detective Banks. And this is Detective Lloyd, Ma’am. You two relatives of Evelyn Winslow?” The tall one speaks.

 

Flo’s face steels over so hard. She could rival Medusa’s killing stare.

 

“Yes. We are. I’m her friend. This is her boyfriend.” Flo says resolutely. Patting his hand. Not letting it go.

 

“We received a callout concerning a domestic abuse dispute involving Ms. Winslow.” Banks adds.

 

“The doctors are increasingly concerned that Ms. Winslow’s injuries correspond with the symptoms of a vicious attack. Injuries sustained typically as a result of a domestic abuse case.”

 

“Domestic-“ Flo scoffs. “Are you _shitting_ me, officers?” She asks.

 

Her cursing language is largely ignored by both men.

 

“You Kylo Ren?” Lloyd asks him lazily.

 

Kylo switches looks between them. “Yeah.” He confirms.

 

“We’d like to ask a few questions if that’s alright, Sir?”

 

Kylo blinks and shuts his eyes to nod. Sighing.

 

“The doctors said you stated she was harmed by an intruder breaking and entering your home. Is that true?” Banks asks.

 

“That’s correct...” He answers. The tubby one scribbles something in a case notebook.

 

“You gotta do this now?” Flo barks at them. “That poor girl is lying on an operation table getting stitched back together and you’re askin’ _us_ questions... Rather than finding the animal that put her there..” Flo comes to a stand. Angrily asserting herself into this conversation.

 

Flo hates being ignored. But one thing she hates more is being treated like an infirm little pensioner. An insane old lady losing her mind. Not worthy. Only worth being ignored and passed over. They acted like she wasn’t even there.

 

“You and Ms. Winslow ever fight at all, Sir? Fight get outta hand? Get your temper rating? You’re a big guy. Maybe this fight went a little too far. She said something too.... outrageous this time.” Lloyd butts. Speaking over her.

 

Kylo sliced his eyes into the man coldly. “No.” He presses firmly.

 

“She ever give you cause you.. raise your voice?” Lloyd asks.

 

“I repeat. _No_.” Kylo confirms. Voice slipping into steel. If looks could kill...

 

“Hold on right there. You wanna go back a step officer.” Flo spits. “Go back and find your manners.” She suggests.

 

“This intruder, can you describe him?” Banks seeks.

 

“6’1. Sandy hair. Tattoo and scars on his neck. Lean. IC1. 180 pounds. Answers to Sam O’Malley.”

 

The detectives share a concerned look.

 

“That’s a very... _accurate_ description. Sir.”

 

Kylo raises his sharp eyes to them. “I have a good memory.” He offers coldly.

 

Banks sighs. Reaches for the back of his belt. Kylo’s heart and chest tightens.

 

“Stand up please, sir.” Lloyd asks. Stepping over to Kylo as he rises to his feet. Apparently not able to stop this either.

 

Flo’s not having any of it. She steps between them advancing on him.

 

“ _No_. No no no.” She growls. “You’re not doing this to him. Not again. Not when he’s done _nothing_ wrong.” She holds firm.

 

“Ma’am were taking him down the station for questioning. Please stand aside.” Lloyd tried to tell her.

 

Flo gets batted aside. And the look on her face hurts Kylo’s chest.

 

“Flo, it’s ok.” He says as they wrench his big arms behind his back. And not kindly either. Hurting and tugging his shoulders out the sockets. He hears those cuffs clicking cold around his wrists. The pinch of them makes him feel sick. An awful sense of incarceration returning.

 

Banks tells him his rights. That he’s being taken in for questioning in connection to aggravated assault. Kylo stops listening after the first word. He’s looking at Flo and she looks about as weak as he feels.

 

He feels saddened and suddenly frothing rage. They’re tugging him away from Evie. Away from where he wants to be. Supporting her. Waiting for news.

 

But he doesn’t show any of that. He swallows and squares his shoulders. They can’t do anything else to hurt him tonight.

 

They can’t charge an innocent man with no proof.

 

“He needs to be here. He has a right to stay with his girlfriend. She needs him here!” Flo’s shouting at them. Pummelling angry words at them like she was chucking pebbles. Trying to knock some sense into their thick, bureaucratic skulls.

 

Arthur is suddenly there. In the fray. Bursting through the double doors. Hearing his wife’s growling cries. Coming to Flo who is sobbing angry tears. Trying to stop Kylo getting taken away. Again. She grabs onto his hand and he tries reasoning. He’s frowning and just as perplexed.

 

“Officers. I don’t understand why you’re arresting him.” He says. Then he gets into Kylo’s vision. “You alright son?” He adds. Stoutly ignoring the Detectives trying to shove him aside. Pushing a flabby hand to his chest. Yanking Kylo along.

 

Arthur looks them up and down after Lloyd tells him rudely to get out the way. ‘ _Old timer.’_ His jaw grits.

 

“I don’t much care for your _tone_ , Detective.” Arthur says harshly. “I practiced family law for 43 years.” He fights back. “There’s no need to add anymore unpleasantness to this very misguided arrest.” He bites out.

 

His guarding tone speaking in deprecation to the officers is the lightest, happiest thought Kylo’s had all evening. A shiny honey bulb in the dark

 

“Sir, Ma’am. Please. Step aside. Let us do our jobs.” Banks says firmly. Overriding them.

 

Kylo loves that they stood his corner. Tears well up his eyes. Cause no one had ever done that before.

 

“It’s alright.” He says softly to them. Arthur claps his shoulder gently. Long angular face full of pain.

 

They walk him past Flo. Who’s sobbing in anger. “If you were any dumber you’d need watering.” She spits at the Detectives backs. Arthur puts an arm around her. Hugging her in support. Unable to stop her wicked tongue being it’s usual fiery self.

 

“Ma’am. I don’t wish to charge you with verbally assaulting an officer of the law.” Banks says tiredly.

 

Flo rolls her sleeves and steps forwards. Tears streaming down her steely expression. Her hard little face all riled up and rightfully upset.

 

“Honey...” Arthur tries to dissuade her. Her temper was up and goaded. Red rag to a bull.

 

“I’d happily go with him. He’s done nothing deserving of what you’re doin to him.” She holds out.

 

Lloyd tugs on Kylo’s arms. Pulling him along. Marching him in step with the two of them. Kylo cups her hand before he’s stepped out of reach.

 

“Look after her for me...” He says to Flo. _Because I can’t._

 

Flo cries. Screws her eyes and tears drop over her cheeks. “ _Always_ , sugar.” She answers.

 

Another fleeting touch on the hand, gripping someone he loves, before he’s marched away. Ripped away from the people he loves. Yet again.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

He didn’t have to wait long for Hendricks, his brilliant ruthless lawyer turns up. Fully suited and vicious as ever, at midnight with proof that lets Kylo walk.

 

He had security footage of the front drive. Showing O’Malley arriving bold as brass. Walking right in the front door. Inviting him right on in. The showstopper, was the security feed situated in the garden. Which showed the big kitchen window. Showed the whole attack. Plain as day.

 

It showed how O’Malley gave her every bruise, every cut, every hit.

 

The time codes all matched up with the alibi Kylo gave. Supported by the fact he could clearly be seen coming home promptly at 7:06. His car ebbs into the picture. Engine running. Lights blaring into the front of the house. He runs in. And O’Malley scarpers not three minutes later. Out the front door. Off into the dark.

 

Hendricks even got the two EMT’s who answered the call signing a statement that said they actually saw the attacker driving off in a hurry when they pulled up into the gate. And they’d testify to this in court should it be needed.

 

Kylo’s released by half past midnight. He’s pulling on his coat as the custody officer walks him out the dank metal barred cell. He gives a particular thanks to Hendricks for coming out this late. He assured him its no bother. It’s his job.

 

Lloyds is there to watch Kylo as he leaves, weaving through the bull pen. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again. Ren.” He spits at him. Arms crossed. Stance pissed that their perfect scapegoat was getting away.

 

Kylo pulls on his coat, turns up his collar and glares.

 

Steps past him without saying a word. His revulsion beating off him in waves. “I think you’ve caused my client enough undue aggravation tonight. Detective.” Hendricks steps in. Cool chilling ice eyes are piercing through his glass lenses.

 

They part ways at the station door. Kylo signs the sheet and gets given back his two possessions off a stony faced sergeant on desk duty. Snatched back his wallet and phone. Moving to the door. Stepping out into the sheltered porch. Hating how his phone screen is still smeared in congealing blood. He attempts to turn his phone on. But it’s dead.

 

He gets a cab back through the still sheeting wind and rain. He’s damp and cold and miserable and he just throws a wad of bills at the driver as they reach the hospital again.

 

He’s never walked so quickly through a place in all his life. He dodges past patients on drip stands. People being pushed in beds. Awful clinical smell of bleach and awful cooked food burning his nostrils. The fake gaudy lighting makes his eyes ache again. It’s too white. Too bright. Gives an awful nauseating impression of daytime. He’s rushing rushing rushing.

 

Lungs bursting. Heart pounding. Sweat on his brow. He needs to see her. It’s an insane frenzy that rips his claws into him.

 

He bursts onto the ward. Pretty sure he alarms the flock of nurses behind the desk, makes them leap out their skin when he just appears out of nowhere like a tall dark sweating storm.

 

He barks her name. “Evie. Evie Winslow.” He orders softly.

 

It’s no use them telling him she can’t receive visitors. He’s tired. There’s bags under his eyes blacker than his suit. He’s covered in blood and feeling exhausted and bitter, he just wants to see if his girl is alright.

 

They take pity. They can’t fight him after all. Can’t force him to leave. He’s clearly had a hell of a day. One of them points to the left. “Room 2112.”

 

He nods a thanks and is off down the eerily quiet ward. Eyes flashing, flickering everywhere for the room number. He finds it. Heavy thudding treads bolt to the door.

 

He yanks the handle. His big hands still chilled and damp from rain, and he bursts like a cloud of crackling furious energy into the quiet room.

 

He halts when he sees her small, huddled little body on the hospital bed. He’s transfixed by how lifeless she is. When the Evie he knew and loved was vibrant, smiling and happy.

 

Now she was pale. And pretty. And still.

 

The big bed was adjacent, facing alongside the large, blinded window that looked out onto the streets below. The amber-yellow street light tinge crept in for the stormy rain outside. The blind that was drawn sliced it into strips that divided up the room. Striping across the familiar figure, resting back, perfectly still in the bed.

 

He swallows, dreading to step into the room and come closer. Seeing the final roll of all the damage that had been done do her. Tears and sour grief bunged up his throat. He steps past the curtain thats drawn across the door. Giving the patients room some privacy.

 

He brushes it aside and edges in. Putting fear aside. It’s grief that’s choking him now. It was striking him square in the chest. Seeing the full extent of the nasty damage to her.

 

There was no noise save for the repetitive drone of the drip counter beeping. Needles daggered under white plasters into the backs of both her hands. Both her arms, the toned, pale muscle that they are, are resting straight down by her sides. Pinning the blue blanket and scratchy sheets across her waist. A pale blue-too-big paper gown is wrapped and criss crossing her chest. Dipping a V down her neck where she’s all wrapped up.

 

And bandages. _So many_ bandages dotted all over her.

 

Dressings patched on the front of her throat. Her hands. Up her left wrist. And one around her right elbow. There’s bruises and cuts on her temple and her cheek. Tacked together white white sticky strips to close the deep cuts. Purple and scarlet flowers up her face. Like the petals of a violent shade of flower.

 

Her eyes are shut. Resting. Chest falling slow. Indicating she’s in a deep sleep. Probably groggy if she’s had surgery. He can’t see the scar to her stomach. But he can imagine it’s a big train track of black stitches now. Pasted orange with surgical iodine and left to heal.

 

She would heal. She’ll be _ok._

 

That makes him screw his eyes shut and internally send up a thanks to a god he didn’t even believe in.

 

She had primary coloured stickers with wires, monitering her heartbeat, suckered onto her chest, which gently rose and fell. A drip is feeding blood and something else clear, antibiotics and fluid, into her arms. Goading life and medicine into her frail body. She lost a lot of blood he knows she’ll be very weak. Oxygen tube strapped under her nose too.

 

He stands at the end of the bed. Putting a hand on the foot of it. Just watching her.

 

A shape moves on the silhouetted armchair pulled up right by the window. A crumple of fabric moves and shifts. Sits up.

 

Flo.

 

Kylo nearly startled as she sits up and assesses him with bleary eyes. There’s a blanket over her knees. And a pillow at her shoulder. She blinks up at him. Eyes focusing. She’s glad he’s here. Free again.

 

“I didn’t want her waking up alone.” She says. Voice croaky with sleep. Reaching forwards to pat her feet on the bed. Looking up at their girl.

 

“How is she?” He asks in a low hush. Cause he doesn’t even want to devote another second to talking about his night. He just needs to know about _her_ now.

 

Flo nods. Still looking a little pained. She settles in her seat. Blanket around her legs. Looks to him again.

 

_“_ Two cracked ribs. Lacerations all over. Slight concussion. Bruising. She lost a lot of blood so she’ll need to stay for a couple day’s. She’s still groggy from the surgery. They patched her up. And luckily there wasn’t much internal damage.” She explains. Rubbing her sore tired eyes.

 

_“_ They said if he hadn’tve slashed. And stabbed instead then, it might’ve been very different-“ She shudders out a breath. Kylo’s jaw ticks. He’s looking down the bed as a scarred and broken man.

 

Flo’s tiny hand reaches for his. “She’s gonna be ok, honey.”

 

He nods. But his expression remains stern. He approached the bed warily.

 

“Hold her hand.” Flo urges. “Talk to her. She’ll want to know you’re here.” She encourages him. He steps past the chair and perched near her feet. Careful not to disturb her blankets or catch anything. _  
_

 

He reaches out for her limp, cool hand. Pale fingers, the cracks in her knuckles, and the smooth oval of her fingernails are still rimmed cracked with blood. Much like his own. He hopes the nurses wash it away or something. He doesn’t reminders of the evening hanging around longer than they needed.

 

He looks up into her sleeping face. Seeing the cuts and violent violet bruises lashed there. And all he can think, with that pinched frown he knows she’d hate to see him wearing, is that he should’ve stopped all that from happening to her.

 

He twines his big fingers through hers. Rubbing a big kind thumb over her knuckles. Her fingers twitch.

 

His heart pumps faster. Senses leaping alert when her eyelids flutter. Eyes peeling open. Blistered with grogginess from the anaesthetic. Woozy from meds and pain and blood loss.

 

Her eyes are fuzzy. Every shape swimming into one. But she can make out the dark hulk of Kylo at her feet. Her crackled dry lips open and she swallows. Mouth sandpaper sticky and tasting of tacky tank oxygen.

 

Her body is ten thousand aches and pains stitched and knotted together. Her tummy feels tight and numb. Her arms feel like two tonnes each. She can’t move her legs at all. And she feels like a heap of fluffy, bundled jumbling nerves. All loose and saggy.

 

“Kylo.” Is the first word her parched throat mumbles out. Cracking from an underused mouth. He doesn’t lift her hand for fear of hurting her arm. But he squeezes as gently as his big brute hands are capable.

 

“I’m here. Kitten. I’m right here.” He promises gently. Her eyes flick shut again. Too heavy. Too exhausted.

 

“You’re safe.” He tells her. He leans up and over her. So gently. Kisses her un-marred temple. Hot lips plush and dry on her skin. Last thing he wants to do is catch on a tender cut. Cups her jaw in his colossal hand as he kisses her with caution.

 

“You’re safe now. I promise.” He lets out. Hushing his words into her hairline. She no longer smells like his Evie. She smells like clinical cotton sheets and wool. Of stinging antiseptic and starchy laundered fabric.

 

She fades back to rest just as quickly as she was awake from it. Off into slumber again.

 

“She’ll be in and out for a while.” Flo guesses. “Lots of pain meds and trauma to sleep off.” She says.

 

Kylo’s staring at her pretty pretty resting face as his mind springs to a conclusion. Truthfully. He’d made his mind up hours ago. Sat in that rotten police cell.

 

He drags a fingertip over her mussed hair. Stroking her brow. Thinking of how a he always wore her toffee- rust colour locks up so beautifully. He liked when she did. He admires her pretty neck when she does that.

 

His big strong voice weakens when he speaks. He looks at her. His Kitten. Drinks in the sight he’ll miss. He’s talking to Flo sat behind him. He knows Evie is beyond hearing him now.

 

“I’ve gotta go away for a while Flo. I don’t know for how long.” He declares suddenly. But slowly. He’s given this great thought.

 

“There’s some things I have to do. And they’re not very nice.” He explains.

 

Flo’s throat thuds as she swallows.

 

“I know. I know you do. I get that.” She answers. Her voice thick with emotion.

 

“I just don’t want another one of my kids gettin’ hurt, is all.” She adds seriously. Wiping back her tears.

 

“I _have_ to do it.” He spells out.

 

And it’s really as simple as that.

 

He twists to look at her. And she nods. Because the agony in his black-gold eyes is so palpable it hurts her to even see it. The tears she sees there makes her heart lurch.

 

“When she wakes up-“ He pauses to stroke Evie’s cheek. “Tell her I _had_ to make sure she’d stayed safe. That I left so she’d be protected.”

 

Flo nods. Kylo stands.

 

He comes and places his hand on hers over the armchair and Flo feels like bawling. She winces as tears come and sobs holding his hand. He looks down at her like he’s been wounded.

 

“We’ll see you soon?” She asks buoyantly.

 

He’s silent. But then “I hope so.” He squeezes her hand. She wipes away tears.

 

_But don’t hold your breath for it._ Is his implication that lingers on the air.

 

When she looks back up, the curtain twitches by the door, and the room is empty once again.  
  


Down to her and Evie. The only trace of him having been in here is the warmth of her hand and the lingering notes of his Ormonde Jayne cologne. The disappearing swish and flicker of his black coattails zipping out the door, out of sight, and then he’s _gone_.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout it out; any thots to share? 💕


	46. Hunts & Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy spoopy day everybody I guess - here have some murder 💕
> 
> Tw; uhh, violent death really

 

 

  
The wood was damp and patchy with sunshine as she was driven home. Afternoon light blazing ochre through tree trunks. The trees of which were now grey, weathered and worn down from the cold. She knows the feeling.

  

 

And all the golden-maple leaves had turned to orange soggy mush with some of the heavy rain that’s pattered down. Cold looms bitter in the air. Turning breath to silvery wisps. Shedding all the beautiful orange and leaving bare dark wood in its place.

 

It had been sweet blessed relief getting a lungful of fresh winter air when she had come outdoors for the first time since she was admitted. Her body fed up of stale recycled hospital air. And fake bright light. The bitter-numb of cold chilling at her skin. Even though she was all wrapped up. She was glad to feel it.

 

Evie felt like her spirits had been sapped. Not only from the attack, and the surgery afterwards. But now she was starting to heal, only just, everything still felt raw. She felt like a still sore patch of nerves all bandaged up and wrapped tight. The stitches pull on her stomach. Like she’d been stitched together too tight. Ribs aching. She still feels groggy. Shredded to pieces by her ordeal.

 

-And by what Flo told her when she woke up. Seeing Kylo sat on the end of her bed had been no dream. She hasn’t hallucinated. He _had_ been there.

 

Until he wasn’t.

 

Flo told her what she said when she finally woke up, the morning after her surgery. She didn’t try and dart around the issue. She was much too headstrong and outspoken for that. Flo took a deep breath - took Evie’s hand. Sat on the bed by her hip. And told her what he’d said.

 

‘ _Tell her I had to make sure she’d stayed safe. That I left so she’d be protected.’_

_“Left?”_ Evie had asked Flo. Hysteria rising up to choke her throat.

 

She couldn’t cry wracking sobs. It hurt too much. A couple tears had already carved down her cheeks. Spilling over the oxygen tube on her face.

 

But her heart hurt more. She nervously plucks at the covers with her fingers. Trying to tame her sadness, to keep her tears held back. It’s a hard fight.

 

“Did he, _uh_. Say when he’ll be back?” She adds. Voice sticky and thick.

 

“No. Sugar. He didn’t.” Flo has to tell her.

 

Evie’s nodding. And then her face crumpled up. It stung the bruises and cuts on her face. She let herself fall to pieces.

 

She sags forwards into Flo. Who catches her in a hug.

 

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Evie asks quietly.

 

Flo strokes her hair. Let’s her sob. Let’s her pained tears absorb into her shoulder. She doesn’t hug too tight. But she can’t not hold her at a time like this.

 

“I think he’s out there doing something he feels he needs to- so that he _can_ come back to ya.” Flo explains.

 

Evie isn’t quite so sure.

 

She was discharged five days after the accident. Prescribed a steady diet of strong pain pills, rest, and good food. Flo and Arthur had barely left her side. And now they were fetching her home.

 

She was resting her head on the back seat of Arthur’s Buick. Cushioned on the big beige bench seat. The sun prickling warm at her cold still-bruised-and-cut face. Her breath fogging up the glass. Bundled up in plenty of layers Flo bought for her so she wouldn’t get cold. Burberry coat. A big thick polo-neck jumper. Scarf. Big winter boots and jeans.

 

Arthur made a joke they weren’t going to the arctic circle for an expedition. Flo frowns. Evie knows its just her showing her unique fussing way of caring.

 

She sees her little home come into view as the car lumbers to a gentle stop. It feels odd. She’s been away barely a week. And yet everything feels like it’s changed - well, nothing at home had anyway.

 

Arthur opens the door for her, they all quietly walk through the frosty-dead evergreen garden.

 

Coming up the wet white porch steps, stuck dotted with soggy orange leaves. The messy muck of autumn. Arthur guides her up - hand on her back so she doesn’t slip. Her wound tugs and winces, shuddering as she moves up the stairs. Ribs crackling with pain too. She breathes through the sting of it. Flo opens the door for them.

 

They all step into the cosy little home. Arthur had been here this morning. Collecting her post. Lighting the fires for her so it’s toasty warm now. They couldn’t bare the thought of their kid coming home to a desolate dark house.

 

She takes off her coat and scarf in the hall. Hanging them up. Smiling through the doorway to her kitchen, at the sheer number of casserole and pie dishes cramming for space on her island. Loving little food parcels wrapped up in foil. There’s so many flowers and cards stood up on her dining room table she feels like she’s won the Kentucky Derby.

 

“Everyone in the shop was askin’ after ya, honey.” Arthur smiles. “Hardly had one customer who didn’t leave a pie. Or one kid who didn’t leave a get well drawin’ for ya.” Hands in his pockets. He’d covered opening it one day. Anna and Bobbi had each chipped in to help too. Aswell as Joe, Sam, Phoebe, Todd. The whole town pulled in together for her, in her time of crisis. Kept her business going.

 

Evie smiles gratefully. Walking over to the table and seeing all the drawings kids had done her. She smiles as she sees a little swarm of fuzzy toy bats smiling up at her. Beady eyes shining. - the ones she gave out for town kids at Halloween.

 

Little drawings and home made get-well cards signifying she was being gifted the little friendly bunch of bats to help her get better. There was a jar of jelly beans from Minnie & Daisy. A chicken roast with carrots and onions, and fixings with hearty love from May, and her husband. Flowers from Mike and Sheila. Zack and Eddy had pooled their allowance and bought her a big pack of twizzlers too.

 

Grief like this, violently sudden and horribly pitiless grief, seemed to make her acutely aware of the tenderness of friendship.

 

How supportive it was. How it came out of the horrible fray to wrap its warm arms around her and make her believe - truly believe - for just a second, that things were alright. That they weren’t as dark as everything now seemed.

 

Evie held each cherished item she’d been gifted close to her heart. She almost cries again but she thinks she’s run out of tears - atleast those would’ve been happy ones.

 

“That’s so sweet of them.” She comments. Unable to believe Zack and Eddy were willing gave up their allowance for her. She knew those boys. They liked comic books and Marvel merchandise toys, and Nintendo games. That really snatched at her heartstrings that they gave up buying all those things for her sake.

 

“You got enough food here to keep you going for a _month_.” Flo says. Putting some of it in her fridge. Sone of it in the freezer too. She had all the fixings with love from folk and friends in town. Chicken and rice. Casseroles. Spaghetti bake. Trays and pots and dishes and mountains of it.

 

Evie smiles. Setting her big bag of prescription painkillers and dressings down on the counter.

 

“We’ll stay for a bit of grub and then I’ll make up the spare room to sleep in. Don’t want you alone.” Flo insists.

 

“Flo I’m ok. Really.” She states warmly.

 

“All I’ll be doing tonight is taking pain killers, having a bath, eating some proper food and having a good full night of uninterrupted sleep in my own bed. I don’t need company for that.”

 

Flo narrows her eyes at her. Evie grips her hand. Not finished.

 

“No one person could’ve done more for me this past week than you guys. But I promise I’ll be fine on my own.” She smiles. Clasping Flo’s hand. Looking over to Arthur

 

“I need to take care of you too.” She says to her second Grandma. Who seemed to take notice of her argument. She even looked a bit worn out.

 

Flo nods - grouchy and defeated. Narrowing her eyes at Evie.

 

“You’re keeping a phone by the bed and you will call us if you need any little thing. Anything at all. I don’t care if it’s 3am. You start bleeding, or fall down the stairs. You. Ring.” She says forcefully.

 

Evie draws her in for a gently clasping hug. Answering a yes, of course she would.

 

_For gods sake-_  Flo was in her eighties. And she’d been sleeping in an armchair by her bedside for six days. She needed a proper bed and Evie wasn’t going to be budging on that fact.

 

“Let’s eat shall we?” Flo says brightly. Sticking her oven on. “I could use some food that ain’t from a vending machine or dried out from a hospital canteen.” She says with mirth.

 

Scooping up a big spaghetti meatball bake that Mrs Lombardi, the sweet italian Nonna from Flo’s bridge club had made. She gave Evie a huge basket of chunky garlic bread too. She could practically hear the woman saying she was too thin. And needing fattening up. The day Evie opened the shop she brought her a tiramisu the size of a football field.

 

Kylo had said how delicious it was when they had some for dessert that night at dinner too-

 

She files that thought away for later when she’s alone. She can let it fully drag her down then.

 

“I’m ready for a peaceful night and a long bath.” Evie says. This is the most she’s moved around days. It felt good. But tiring. So exhausting after the pattern of rest her doctor ordered on her. Letting the wound have its chance to heal.

 

She had a deeply unsatisfying shower three days after the attack. Grateful for the feeling of soap and warm water rubbing away smears of iodine and blood. By that point her hair was lank and she was desperate to wash. She didn’t care that all she had was bar soap. It was so nice to feel clean again. Getting rid of the memories and trauma that lived in the dried blood thats been hanging around on her skin, ever since the attack.

 

She shuffled off as Flo busies herself getting dinner ready. She settles in the living room. Sits down on her squashy old sofa and Arthur brings her through a cup of camomile tea. Flo comes through once she’s shoved dinner in the oven. And they just talk. They talk about things in town Evie missed. Latest gossip. Arthur trying to not blush too furiously when he covered the shop for her, and sold Myrtle and Connie a “raunchy” book from her historical romance section. She laughed - mindful of not bursting her stitches.

 

She doesn’t think she could’ve made it through without these mad, wonderful two. She was lucky to have them.

 

They eat dinner, and wash up together. Flo puts Evie on drying duty. Nothing too strenuous. Then she walks them to the porch to say goodbye. And thanks them both for their help. She knows she doesn’t need too - but she wants too. She feels it’s appropriate.

 

“You sleep well honey. Get some rest.” Flo kisses at her cheek before they leave.

 

Evie mumbles an answer. Not saying how sick of rest and peace she was already.

 

They just pull away in the car, barely off the drive, when Arthur turns to his wife from the driving seat. Flo’s already worriedly chewing her lip.

 

“Reckon she’s really alright?” He asks.

 

Flo shakes her head. Uncertain.

 

“I think theres a lot she ain’t lettin’ out.”

 

And then she adds “I know he had to go away. There was never any doubt in my mind about that. But- it tore her up, him not being there.” Flo cries. Swiping away the annoyance that was a lonely escaped tear.

 

“You blame him for leaving?” He seeks.

 

“ _God no._ I don’t blame that poor boy one bit. Not for any of it. And do you want to know the _very_ worst thing?” Flo says to him.

 

They meet each other’s faces and gazes there. In the secret half dark of the woods with only the car headlights shining. Arthur can see the wet tears on her face. It wasn’t just Evie who’d been left scarred and scared from this encounter - the violence and sadness spilled onto those who loved her the most.

 

“I want him to _hurt_ the creature who did what he did to her. He butchered her.” Flo adds angrily.

 

Annoyed with her tears. Annoyed with this whole thing that meant two people who loved each other, had to be far apart.

 

Arthur holds his wife’s hand. He holds it tight. Jaw gritting tight.

 

“Can I tell ya something honey?”

 

“Yeah...” Flo says. Always, he could. She was his rock.

 

“ _So_ do I.” They hold hands so tight they hear their knuckles crack.

 

They’re both angry. Full up of vicious bone-deep hatred for the monster who’d taken away their kid’s one smidgeon of happiness in her dismal life.

 

Back on her lonely little porch. Evie folds her arms across herself. Trudging back inside. Feeling like a boulder of six tonnes was now lifted off her chest. That big heavy liquid-mercury orb of pent up sadness thats churning behind her ribs. Nestled between her lungs and her heart.

 

She stands at the front door and shuts it with her back. Looking now at her cursedly silent house. Dark and empty. Only light coming from the fire in the living room, slicing diagonal orange-ochre onto the hallway floorboards. She’ll tackle the pile of cards and lovely well wishes tomorrow. She snaps off the kitchen light as she gets past it. Walks to the couch. Sinks down. Winces when the stitches pull.

 

It wasn’t just sadness making her exhausted. She’s lost the love of her life, she’s pretty certain about that. No hiding from the fact. It was the parting she couldn’t endure - the _way_ they parted. The way he’d left her in a cloud of his own shame and anger.

 

For all his strength and fortitude she knows Kylo was frail when it came to love and feelings. He’d risked every instinct falling for her. And now his paranoia would be alive and screaming it’s lungs out at him, that this entire situation was all _his_ fault. And it was an unforgivable sin.

 

And following that, she knew he’d revert back to believing the things that had been yelled at him all his life. That he was no good. Worthless. Waste of space. Fucked up. Good for nothing.

 

The long and short of it; she wasn’t sure he would come back. Not because he didn’t want too - but because he’d never deserved to have someone good like her. And he’d keep away if it meant she stayed safe.

 

When Flo told her what he’d said, that morning after, sat up in bed, with the scratchy sheets and her paper gown. Body littered with a million stinging cuts-

 

It felt like part of her heart just shrivelled away. Like a bit of her had died.

 

She wanted to be sick. She wanted to cry and bawl if it didn’t already hurt her stomach muscles and ribs to hiccup sobs. O’Malley had chipped a rib where he rammed the knife in. But it’s nothing to the pain those memories of words brought. She wanted to lie on that hospital bed, rotting away to nothing.

 

Because Kylo was hurting too. He’s in pain and she can’t stop it. And she couldn’t even go to him. Or hug him. Or pull him close and kiss him, and talk some of her goodness and sense into his head. Tell him how stupidly stupidly wrong all those thoughts were.

 

He had to watch this happen to her and what did he get? He got dragged into a cell and poked and prodded with snide questions and suspicions. He had to watch his girl get stabbed two feet from his very eyes. And he couldn’t stop it. He’d done nothing wrong and he still got the blame for the the vile attack.

 

Sometimes she thinks people can be callous. To only look at him and see the scars. The tattoos. The muscles and the violence. She thought better of people. Believed everyone didn’t just judge things by their appearance. She’d been foolish. Because nasty people with nasty perceptions thrived in this world everywhere, and now they’d literally - cut her and Kylo apart.

 

She takes a couple of strong pain pills. The ones that made her woozy. She wants to be insensate tonight. Wants to drive away her fear and her torment and her nightmares.

 

The nightmares never stopped coming -

 

_Coming, coming, always coming_

 

She hadn’t been blessed with a full night of sleep since the attack. Lingering trauma sneaking its foul, conniving sharp fingers into her dreams and wrecking her even as she sleeps. She relives it all.

 

The fear, blood and the sound bones make when they snap. That guttural sound. The feeling and the terror of watching that knife sinking fully into her belly in one slash. Carving her up like she was dead, nerveless meat on a slab.

 

She wakes up often in heart pounding panic, clammy sticky, and with hot briny tears streaming down. Fear pulsing her veins and in her head. She cried and shook until her eyes were raw and dry. And then she’d drift off of exhaustion when yellow-red dawn starts to peek over the horizon.

 

Body full up with dull aches that press and roll and shift when she slumps down on the sofa. Wounds prickle like needled reminders at her skin. She curls a blanket around her side, folds the quilt over herself. She clicks on the telly for a bit of noise. She finds some quiet period drama and tries to let it soothe her. Quiet English countryside and declarations of undying eternal love.

 

She drifts off somewhere near the middle of it. She misses the hero and heroine sailing dangerously close towards an ill-informed, misunderstanding.

 

She wakes up when she gets dragged through the attack again in her head. Always the same part. As if paused at the moment just after the knife sinks in. She remembers the wet sound of it. Sams grinning face.

 

“I _am hurting you.”_ He taunted to Kylo with that leer. Haunting her even in her dreams. She startled bolt upright, crying, talking in her sleep. Pleading. Right before the knife sinks into her again.

 

Worst still - she calls Kylo’s name. And he doesn’t answer.

 

Just her. Alone again. Just stone-cold silence. Right back to square one. Everything they had lay shattered and broken. And she suspects it’ll remain that way.

 

She sobs herself to sleep that night.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Where he is. There’s already snow on the ground. Or there has been.

 

It’s grey depressing slush now. From the recently fallen rain that shimmers like splintered grey glass off the shining tarmac. Neon lights lay jagged on the cold concrete. Refracting off every dirty puddle. Blue and red from the diner behind him. And pink from across the street at the crappy motel. The air is frost and sour-cold. One drag of it numbs lips and chills lungs to breathe it in.

 

He’s stood in the god-forsaken-middle of this frozen frigid back water. In a phone box, staring at the sprawling motel opposite.

 

Situated in the cradle of nature, acres of pine forest, off a disused stretch of the highway, sat snugly right at the foothills of some towering grey rocky, snow capped mountains. Semi-Trailers blare past every now and then. Horns blurting loud. Churning up slushy snow to grey ice muck. This place seems to be popular with people just concerned with passing through and anyone unlucky enough to live near, don’t seem to be happy about being stuck here.

 

He’d only been here for three hours and he already wanted to leave.

 

His eyes were trained on the motel. The crummy two floor building surrounding its own abysmal parking lot in a U courtyard shape. Dirty pink paint slapped all over the exterior of the building. Flickering neon sign with half the letters missing.

 

He’d gone in the diner and paid two dollars for the weakest cup of coffee he’s ever had in his life. The taste of it still soured his mouth. It was all sweetener and sugar. Cloying saccharine on his tongue. But the diner had the best unsuspecting vantage point across the road. The lot full with trucks and lorry’s from the gas station and truckers scarfing down pie and coffee all around him in the big red booth seats.

 

The interior is an old fifties look. Retro. Cheap. With rings of old coffee splashes stained on the floor. Right down to the old jukebox in the corner. Pictures of Studebakers and rock-around-the-clock fashion. The floor tiles are lino and all of them are dirty. Or cracked. Or some are missing. The empty counter is lined with cracked red leather stools. Tears in the seats fixed with duct tape. The place stinks of old fried onion rings and Pasty Cline croons her ‘Crazy’ through the jukebox speakers. The aura in here seemed hopeless and flat. Dull. Lifelessly forlorn.

 

The waitress who served him looks and sounds like she’d honestly rather be anywhere else in the world. Chewing gum noisily like a cow chewing cud’s when she took his order. Tacky blonde hair pinned back on her uniform hat and starched turquoise kitty foyle dress. Topped off with a neat little white apron on her lumpy hips. Gaudy gold hangs from her ears and the smell of rotten sugar perfume clouds her presence. Follows in her wake like a galleon setting sail. Making her rounds with the coffee pot.

 

He sits by the window. And he waits. And watches. Watches after the first lead they’d gotten in five days.

 

Ben was back at the lodge. The tiny unsuspecting all-pine cabin in the woods, about an hours drive away. He left his annoying - bitching - Twin behind tonight to do some solo stake out on their target. Ben has been busy finding out everything from sources and research about these scumbags.

 

One of Ben’s less finer talents - that man could sniff out dirt in a snowstorm. A few dollars slipped into hands here and there. Some discreet anonymous questions to sources and he soon had a whole file to work from.

 

O’Malley was part of a gang, so it seems. The rival gang in the area being the one he snitched on that landed him in jail. Drug runners. Small arms. Nothing too ludicrous. Him and his colleagues are thick as thieves. Hence why they were hidden out somewhere. The vipers slithered back into his nest. Back to where he felt safe in the seedy undergrowth.

 

Kylo’s going to light a match and burn the whole fucking forest down to ash to catch this elusive serpent - if that’s what it takes.

 

He wants them all dead. Every gang member. And he had all the time and patience in the world to make it happen. He had all the resources too. Old habits he fell back on. Burner phones. An unknown address to live in. Old clothes and remembering to burn them afterwards. An airtight alibi. An extremely vigilant sense keeping him out of the line of suspicion. A private investigator for a Twin.

 

He wants to see O’Malleys face when he finally finds him. His surprise. His fear. Kylo will get drunk on it.

 

_Hell_ , he’s looking forwards to it.

 

He’d long since filed away the thought that since his new lease of life with Evie, he wouldn’t be requiring those killer instincts he’d harnessed long ago. He thought his days of killing were over.

 

Tonight. He’s glad they’re not. Because he’s frothing rage over what happened and these men will pay for what they did with their lives.

 

After his disappointing coffee, and an hour or two of watching. He heads outside when he see’s movement on the lower level. Last door on the right. His door. The _kid’s_ door.

 

He crosses the wet tarmac. Big boots thudding the grimy asphalt. A vision in black. That black thick pea coat that had been consigned to see through this endeavour - he’ll burn it after this is all over. He can’t bear wearing it and being reminded of what happened the last time he shrugged it on. He definitely looked an out-of-towner. Even in the old faded clothes he’s got on. Dark indigo jeans and a black Henley, over a navy vest stretched on his big chest. No belt. And old old pair of black leather, designer hiking boots. Dusty and unused. Kept aside in a box buried deep in his walk in for something like this.

 

Clothes he didn’t mind getting filthy. And he would be - getting filthy. In muck and grime and grit and - hopefully - blood.

 

Air gusting silver out his mouth. He yanks the phone booth open and slips inside. Cold and metal stinging like pennies at his nose. All that’s in here is tattered phonebook and a plastic handset on the wall. Scrawled with graffiti all over. Trash littered everywhere, gum sticking to his soles, trash and crunching beer cans and cigarette butts crumpling on and under his boots. He didn’t care.

 

He thumps the number into the buttons. Lifts the receiver to his ear. Taking out the folded map and the grainy Polaroid from his pocket. It rings a few times before Ben picks up. “What?”

 

“I think I finally got him.” Kylo’s says.

 

Ben chuckles dark. All scratchy gravel and whisky smoke. “The fucking new kid?”

 

“He’s in the shitbag motel off the highway. Hasn’t moved for three hours.” Kylo says. “Anymore news?”

 

“These guys have a lot of people who wanna gut them. It doesn’t surprise me that they’re not the easiest bunch to find. But _hey_...” Ben chirps.

 

“Break the new guy and who _knows_ what he’ll spill...” Comes his suggestion. Kylo rolls his eyes. That much was obvious.

 

“He’ll make a move for town soon. No proper food out here, except diner shit. And he’s dealing tonight. He has to leave sometime.” Kylo says.

 

Watching at that moment - as if he’d summoned it - as the skinny, lanky kid opened his door, and stepped out. Sipping up his leather jacket and smoothing a hand through his shorn hair. Shaved on the sides. Long on the top.

 

He walked with a swagger. This jacked up little nobody. Thought cause he fell in with a bad crowd he was a thug. A hard-as-nails guy. When all he really did was push petty amounts of drugs and carry a flick knife or a pathetic little handgun.

 

Kylo scans his form for any obvious weapon bulges as the kid lights up a cigarette and pushes his slick hair back on his head.

 

He walks across to the sidewalk. Patting his pockets in reassurance. Making sure he was packing. Kylo can pinpoint how new and unaccustomed this boy is. He’s jittery and trying to overplay that by trying to be a swaggering ‘suave’ cut-throat like the other guys he works with. Kylo sees everything.

 

All bravado and no _bite_.

 

He flicks his cigarette away into some bushes and stomps on into the busier part of town. His doc martens clumping along with each thud. When he twists his head to ogle and whistle and scowl at some girls walking past him. Kylo spots the scrawling calligraphic neck tattoo that all the gang get as an initiation. They had snarling wolves inked on their forearms too. _Pathetic_.

 

Kylo gives chase. Pockets the polaroid and the marked map that Ben scouted our all their locations on. Tears out the booth. Walks calmly. Stalks him from the opposite. His eyes don’t leave the boy.

 

He crosses to be behind him when they come to the slightly busier parts of town. Spying him through the sparsely populated streets. The rows of old 1880’s saloon timber shop fronts looking all seedy and crammed with sports bars and bowling alleys. Dingy sad whiskey bars and places designed to cater to the fleeting crowds that passed this miserable little town by.

 

Ben had tapped the kids phone to days ago. They knew when and where the drop was. A dumpster filled, dank alley between the Chinese place and a mock Irish pub called O’Gradys. The neon clover beating sickly green light out from above the doorway was an ironic symbol for what would happen in its unchecked, quiet back alley tonight. Kylo can hear the din within when the door gusts open. Crappy imitation pipe music. A rendition of Finbar Furey in annoying chirpy speed upbeat.

 

Kylo slows and darts for the alley before the one the kid heads down. Creeps slowly though old newspapers, trash trod to the floor. Wet with snow. Boxes and trash stacked everywhere. He waits in the shadows by the damp brick wall. Peering into the alley beyond. Well hidden.

 

He watches the boy loiter for a few moments. Scrolling on his phone. Other hand tucked in his pocket. Leaning against the wall, one knee bent resting his foot flat against it.

 

Waiting for the drugs drop. A little weed and some coke. Kylo had read the texts. His ears perk up when approaching footsteps scuffle the alley floor. Trash crumpling and some big guy wearing a slouchey hoodie covering his face approaches for the goods with a very stoned-gruff sounding voice. “You Zander?”

 

False name of course. Given a new identity to join this group.

 

The kid grunts. Standing straight and squaring his shoulders. Trying to give off a dominant stance. He reaches for his pockets, pulls out two little bundles of plastic. One green. One white. The guy hands over a wad of notes. They exchange quickly and slouchy hoodie lollops off. Back into the street.

 

The perfect time was now.

 

He silently treads closer. His clothes not even making a sound. Boots not even whispering noise against the cold ground. He always was good at hunting down his victims.

 

The kid goes to walk all cocky-like out the alley. He would’ve done. If Kylo didn’t strike out the shadows. Farrer & Tanner Im his hand, drawn out his coat pocket. We wanted information and this kid caught up in this shitty gang will give it to him.

 

He drags him back and slams him up to the bricks. Leather gloved hand over his mouth. He tries to fight - but really who is he kidding. This boy, this terribly misguided boy, trying to act the man for a bunch of murderers, is barely even 130lbs. Kylo’s almost double that in muscle mass alone. Broader in the shoulders. Taller. Stronger.

 

_Better_. 

 

The kid still fights. Scrappy. He tries to throw punches. Kylo’s snatching his collar up and dragging them nose to nose. He’s almost up on his tiptoes so Kylo can snark into his terrified eyes. They’re cool blue-grey. Blown wide. He was high. Fidgeting.

 

So he curses him out and tries to be top dog. “Fuck you. Fuck you man! Get the hell off _me!”_ He’s snapping spitting like a riled up yappy little dog.

 

He hasn’t heard that wise old saying - you cannot reason with a tiger when your head is in its _mouth_.

 

Kylo would roll his eyes. But he’s got better things to do. He stabs his knife into the kids denim clad thigh with one thrust. Hand over his mouth warbled the screams. And those wide eyes look suddenly wet and fearful. _Innocent_.

 

_Like Evie’s had that night when Sam slammed a Bowie knife in her gut._ That thought summons up all his merciless rage.

 

He takes his hand away from the kids face. He want’s answers.

“Tell me where the rest of your shitty little gang is hiding out.” Kylo demands coolly.

 

Calm. This violence doesn’t even touch his soul. Barely phases him. Doesn’t even scratch at the steely hard surface of his conscience - what little there of it. It’s just who he is. This is required.

 

“Fuck you. Asshole.” The kid seethes. Except he’s crying and whimpering and his voice is wobbling, and one clutching onto his injured thigh where Kylo has him pinned. Thick globs of scarlet and oozing red mar shiny on his jeans in this dank half light.

 

Kylo tilts his head and stares at him as he twists the knife.

 

“If I have to ask again. This goes in your gut. And that’s a slow _slow_ agonising death to die.” He threatens.

 

“I-don’t-know-I—don’t-know-where-they-are.” He gabbles out in a false lie.

 

“You’re the scout. The newbie. The lackey who does their bidding. You’re initiated into their sorry group. Got the tattoo to prove it. Where are they?” Kylo asks louder. Still twisting. Pressing in harder. Right to the hilt of the knife. He’s just scraped bone.

 

He’s sweating and holding out. But the pain is too great and it gets the better of him. This stranger looks feral. But calm. He must be Insane. Dark eyes. Even darker voice. The strength and presence of him is enormous. Intimidating and terrible. Nothing scares him. Nothing even phases him.

 

Nothing - except for this demon that struck out of nowhere.

 

“They’re-” He grits his teeth. Sobbing.

 

Kylo’s slamming his head back to the wall. Big hand in his throat. The tiger finding a jugular to tear open. He was so close. A hairs breadth away from what he’s been searching for for five long days. He’s barely eaten. He’s barely slept. He’s gaunt and there’s bags of purple-grey puffed up under his bloodshot eyes.

 

Kylo’s jaw ticks tight. “Keep talking dipshit.” He commands.

 

“North. Up the h-ugh-highway. Exit 87. There’s a safe house in the woods. O-out up near Salida.” He rambles.

 

He stores it away. Stares down this frightened little boy. Wrenches the knife out. He screams. Kylo keeps him flush with the wall.

 

“Put me down. I fucking gave you what you wanted. Put me _down- I_ ain’t got nothing else.” He whimpers.

 

Kylo does. Black eyes glittering malice in the night. Like jagged onyx gems.

 

“Should’ve stayed home, kid.” Kylo warns.

 

He shoves his blade upwards into the boys throat. One sharp squelching upwards thrust. Draining his life away before it had barely begun. He couldn’t have been more than 20, 21.

 

Waste of life. But he has no sympathy for that.

 

His veins and arteries empty out down his chest in a gurgling wet crush. He clutches his neck with scarlet hands blood spattered on his face. Kylofelt it drip and patter onto his leather boots. He wipes them on the lackey’s slumped body. The knife too. Cleans it off on his jeans.

 

He doesn’t need anything else. He sticks the knife back in his coat and leaves the pitiful corpse slumped behind a dumpster. An obvious gang related death. There were so many of them around these parts. They all carried knives. He’d turn into another statistic on a rap sheet of escalating turf wars between drug runners.

 

Kylo gets the hell out of this seedy little town. Back on the road again in his rental. More work to be done.

 

 

 

~

 

 

He says nothing to Ben after an hours drive home. He parks his bland car and strides up the old porch. And into the house. Blood on his boots. Caked in his knuckles. He ignores his twins presence and zips straight for a glass of whiskey.

 

This tiny A-frame hunting lodge had been in the family for generations upon generations, on moms side. Nestled into a little brook no one knew about. Tucked away safe in the woods. Only people aware of its existence now were the owners.

 

Ben and him.

 

It had fallen into disrepair a while back. Kylo had made it up when he finished college. Lived here for a while after the tumultuousness of Grans passing. It’s warmly masculine. Cheap too. All stained pine and an antler decoration hung above the front door. An old toffee pleather couch and tartan rugs for keeping warm. A stone wall fireplace. A tiny box of a kitchen. And nothing but miss green tall pine fills up every window. Fragrances the air with ruddy nature too. this old-ruinous place sleeps six. Three bedrooms and a modest bath.

 

Ben had suggested they use his $9 million lake house in New Hampshire. Kylo spat at him that he’s not getting blood on his quartzite floors. They’re worth more value than his twins life. Imported from China. Hand-crafted.

 

As much and he and Ben liked their luxurious life. They’d have to slum it for now. In a lodge they didn’t mind getting dirty and bloody if they needed.

 

Ben’s lit the fire by some sheer miracle. He’s sat on the couch, lounging really, reclined back with his laptop in hand. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. White tee on his big chest and arms. His hair was nearly as shaggy as Kylo’s. He’s still got that trimmed stubble ink goatee. Folders and piles of paper in front of him. Their research. Reconnaissance. Rap sheets. Information.

 

“The Boy Scout is dead. Cross him off the list.” He demands with razor sharp dry humour. Stalking grumpily past the couch.

 

Ben raises his brows. Scrubs a name off the list of many still to come.

 

Kylo’s in the tiny kitchen. Slamming back a Johnny Walker. The black cloud of tension upon the room that been there for days - crackles and splinters around his head. He’s the source, after all.

 

“Anything?” Ben asks.

 

“Near Salida. North.” Kylo says back. Face haunted by the tired pale gaunt of his features.

 

“That’s a three hour drive, one way.” Ben explains.

 

Kylo stares. “We leave first thing tomorrow.” He tells.

 

“Kylo.” Ben calls after him. He pauses. That big hulking frame. But he doesn’t turn. Ben’s staring at the back of his brothers head.

 

“When was the last time you ate?” Ben seeks.

 

He was never one to worry. But Kylo’s just a shell. Has been ever since he knocked on his front door and told him what had happened.

 

He’s not _him_. He’s just rage and clinical pain. Ben never worries. But this kind of callous emptiness is festering at him. This is the old Kylo. Before Kitten came along, and made him all- sentimental.

 

This anger here, pulsing in the room out of his every pore is rotting his twin away to skin and bone. When they’re finished maybe that’s all that’ll be left of him. When all the pain is spent up and gone. Dried up.

 

“I’m going for a shower. Stop fucking fussing about me. You sound like Mom.” Kylo answers grimly. And off he storms. Drinking more.

 

“And you’re starting to sound like dad.” Ben calls through. Their father used to come and go straight to the whiskey bottle.

 

Kylo pretends not to hear - carries his glass to his room. Tips it all down his throat. Maybe he’ll sleep tonight. Maybe he won’t - all bets are off.

 

Nothing will be right until he snaps O’Malleys spindly little neck with his bare hands.

 

Only _then_ he can know some fucking peace.

 

 

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we reckon? 💕


	47. Finality & Sensibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw; again, some gory murder here too

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Weeks went by. She hasn’t kept an exact count. But the very mere fact that it was Xmas next week, made her know in the back of her heart that it had been coming onto three and a bit weeks that Kylo had been gone.

Nearly a month.

She’d stopped trying to hope he was coming back. Maybe there’s a glimmer of glittering hope- but it grows fainter and quieter with each passing day.

That he’d walk in the shop. Just like that. Turn up on her doorstep late one night. Stood there like the dark vision he was. She finds herself watching over her shoulders.

Walking down the street heart pumping pulsing pain when she thinks she catches sight of him out the corner of her eye. She goes to grab his hand. Shes caught stuck on the long swirls of black hair on strangers that look like his. Doleful black eyes that turned into pools of honey-lemon blaze in the sunshine. That big big body she won’t ever find elsewhere on another man. The calculative striding gait. None of its him. It’s _no use. It’s never him._

She even catches so much as a glimpse of all black sleeve tattoos or rakish black hair, and she just launches into gut wrenching despair.

She laments the sad fact that she didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. What they had just died a swift silent death with one blow. No fight for it. He left her vulnerable without so much as being able to get a word in sideways on the matter. That stung it’s venomous barb deep.

Clearly she’s morose tonight. Recounting everything. Mind set to wander over well trod ground.

Maybe it was the xmas tree that’s doing it. The one in front of her in the shop she’s decorating. She keeps on harping back to the thought of what she and him should’ve been doing that night. Xmas tree shopping for his house. And instead? - they split up. _Well_. He split. She was just left there. Unconscious. In agony and uncertainty.

The sentence that always got her right in the gut like a poison tipped arrow;

_“I left so she’d be protected.”_

It’s cruel how that mocks her now. Makes a fool out of her and her heart. She’s wasted away a little every day of not seeing him. She doesn’t feel protected or comforted by that.

Maybe it had gotten too much? Maybe he saw this as his way out and he took it. She thought they’d been strolling well into happiness together. Maybe the sociopathic mask he wore had her tricked. Bewitched. It wouldn’t be the first time-

She liked to think she knew the real him better than that. The stoic enigma that made him up. Maybe she didn’t know a thing about him at all.

She returns to her task. Offsetting the pain. She’s kneeling on the thick carpet in the recess of her shop front window. In front of a real Christmas tree that’s brimming with decorations. Handmade. Ones from home. One’s kids who came into the shop made her.

Smell of mossy fir tree cloys the air. Along with the pinching snap of cinnamon and sweet crushing crunch of apple from the scented candles she burns on the desk in a fluted hurricane vase. Holly leaf wreath ringing outside the bottom of the glass. Warm light from the fire and the golden-glow of antique lights softly glimmer off the pointed tiles. Every polished table blazes a little orange amber because of the log fire that keeps the chilly place toasty and inviting.

She’s toed off her boots. The gown wooly lined laced things are just on the tiled floor besides her. She’s dressed for the spike of cold that stabs in the air now. Black wooly tights fuzzy thick on her legs. With a beige black-red-check herringbone pleated skirt and a big cable knit red jumper chunky on her arms. Sleeves pushed to her elbows as she awkwardly crammed herself between the display tree and the silver-smeared foggy window.

She was putting some candy canes on the tree too. Real ones. Peppermint lingers on her fingers even through the plastic. She has a big bowl of mini ones up by the till to give to kids. The teddy shelf behind the desk has been cleared of fuzzy bats and spooky plushy skulls and squat sneering pumpkins. Now festive Christmas toys have taken their place. Reindeers, polar bears, and Xmas elves with pointy hats and dangly striped legs. Teddies in jumpers and scarves. She even had cuddly round Xmas puddings up there.

Gone are the maple orange leaf garlands. Green holly and red berries and the teal of eucalyptus replaces it. The fireplace nook is cosy and stuffed with another twinkling Victorian decorated tree. Presents of wrapped books piled under it. The end tables that flank the chairs are now pooled in light in idea to the stout Tiffany lamps she found in a thrift store not long ago. They went so nicely. And she likes how her Grandma’s ornaments just shine off that tree.

The whole scene, wingback chairs, traditional leather gilded bound old books from penguin classic are on the mantel. A Victorian Christmas, Dickens and Clement Clarke, E. T. A Hoffman too. It looked like a picture perfect 1854 etching of a Victorian xmas. She had little wooden nutcracker soldiers on the mantel for a nod towards her favourite picture book as a girl. She remembers falling in love with the tale. The princess, the mysterious grandfather in his big black cloak. The horrible scary rats with their spitting sharp teeth, gleaming eyes and sabres.

 

That felt only too real to her these days.

She pushes off the thought. Focusing on the laughter and footfalls of the happy kids in her shop. Just across in the kids section that she’s literally strung with twinkle lights and paper snowflakes.

She listens to people murmuring happily. A soft din over-rided by the twinkling crooning festive music she’s got on. Doris Day singing about a white Christmas. Evie likes how stepping into this place was like a candy cane scented warm hug from the frost outdoors.

She’s putting baubles, and homemade paper stars made out of cut up cardboard that Minnie helped her make. Placing them on the branches still ungoverned by decoration. She even took the plunge and hired an assistant a couple weeks back. Anna, from the florists niece. Cally. She was studying Literature at the local college. Job seemed tailor made for her

She was a responsible girl - enough to be trusted with a set of keys to open the place. She was bubbly but reserved and devoted to dressing like she belonged in the 1940’s. Pin curls in her turquoise green hair. She was just mad enough that the kids loved her, and just sensible enough to sell books to the adults.

She’s a gorgeous person. Always made up and wearing her vintage polka dot dresses that look brilliant on her rubenesque body. She sometimes admit she felt self conscious about her figure. That it was too much. Too much tummy. Too much in the arms and bottom and the hips and the thighs. She spoke in shy self deprecation of it a couple times. Denying herself candy when offered it. Despite having a keen sweet tooth.

Evie told her she always rocked her dresses and her sense of style. And she wished she had half her gumption and beauty. She too hated her saggy ass and her plump cellulite- ridden thighs (what woman didn’t have misgivings for Christ’s sake, in this insta obsessed society) She told Cally how her looks were enshrined in oil and appreciated by the artistic masters. The greats.

There’s far more beauty, to Evie, in a a Raphael than on a catwalk these days. The earth seemed entirely inclined to believe and appreciate the opposite. Only seemed to see women for their size. The smaller the better.

Not _Evie_.

Evie doesn’t put any limitation on the term gorgeous. This vast world had people of different creeds, colours, ages, sizes, religions, disabilities and facets of individuality. Variability is the spice of life, isn’t it? She finds such fascination and allure in unconventional beauty.

However, wise words from Flo summed it up best. _“Honey, we’re all endin up as bones in the ground in this earth someday... It sure as heck won’t matter then what size you are. Eat the good cake and the fatty food and be greedy, you’ll be far happier - trust me.”_

Cally was happy to help anyone. A broad red-lipsticked smile and a curious quiet nature that Evie reckoned was a symmetrical feature they shared. She liked watching her colleague grow in confidence the longer she was employed.

She’s watching her right now matter of fact - serving a customer on the till counter. The one good thing to come out of her crummy year, she supposed with a slight lift to her perpetually lingering misery. This shop. The lovely people who came through its doors. The new friend she had in Cally. It all weighed sunshine-liquid gold against the mercury-weight of her eviscerated woeful heart.

She watches some very bundled up mum and kid walk by outside in the howling wind. She waves and smiles at them. Michael and Jessica. They were regulars. She gets a toothy grin and a giggling hello of “Hi Evie.” That she hears even through the window. She refocuses on the task at hand after they walk off out of sight. Into that bitter evening.

She puts another home-made star up on the tree. She thinks of her mom. Muses how she always seemed to think of her more at this time of year. Made her think of indisputably sad Joni Mitchell songs. About sadness and grief ailing like a physical pain. She tries to snap out of herself and stop thinking of things like sadness and misery and loss. She just can’t seem to escape the point that she’s been cast to the wayside - yet again.

Grief of lost love is a different sort of heartbreak compared to mourning. She feels very scarred in both respects now.

And losing Kylo seemed to be the most wrenching of all agonies. It never stopped circling through her mind.

And she’s tried everything. _Everything_ , everything. She’s got her garden all trimmed and ready for the frosty snap of winter. Shes thrown herself into work at the shop. She’s hosted storybook time. Poetry nights. Book clubs with wine and cheese offered. She’s been volunteering round the clock at the library and the homeless shelter two towns over. She forgets all of it sometimes - but then the scars twitching or someone with hair very much like Kylo’s, walks past. And it’s always lingering on the back of her mind. Swooping in to crush her breathless when she doesn’t expect it to.

Anything to keep from thinking about _him_ -

The nightmares haven’t stopped coming either. She gets far less sleep than she used to. Paranoid. Cause she knows that familiar dream will haunt and terrify behind closed eyelids. Always screaming awake, clammy and crying. Thrashing around reliving the memory. Reaching out for the comforting arms a lover who isn’t even there anymore. She doesn’t like doing it - but sometimes she takes the light sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. Just to numb numb numb it out for just some blessed peace. For just a _minute._ If it then means that her trauma doesn’t rule her. Doesn’t get the last say of how it treats her.

Flo tells her she’s loosing weight. That her face looks all faint gaunt and craggy. She admits that some of her clothes do feel looser than they used to. Keeping busy had a new diet regime apparently. Involving an excuse of ‘too busy to eat.’ Or something along the lines of that ilk.

 

Flo doesn’t care for that.

 

She frogmarches Evie to dinner every Friday, no excuses, and shoves seconds down her throat and sends her home with extras - to be eaten on pain of death. Peach cobbler and ice cream. A tin of brownies. A big big pot of mac n cheese.

Evie’s thankful that her no nonsense matriarch drill sergeant is there keeping her afloat. If she left even a bite or a spec of a molecule of a crumb the size of an atom on her plate, Flo glares at her like she’s committed a heinous, bloodied war crime.

She smiles a little thinking of how she may not have a lover anymore. She may have lasting PTSD and an ugly twisted train track of a scar puckering up on her belly. She definitely has a pile of dead sad ash for a heart. But she was ultimately thankful for Flo. Her stroppy fierce guardian angel. She would never be truly lonely whilst that fire breathing old dragon stalked this earth. (Flo’s words, not hers)

It’s fairly quiet in the shop here tonight. A lull of sorts. Evie can understand why in this weather. She wouldn’t venture out either. And because she has a Christmas themed storybook telling tonight. The nutcracker. The Grinch and the last passage of Dickens, a Christmas Carol. But still. They had a couple of stragglers in right now. Frank, the owner from the Deli in one of the armchair’s with ‘Little Women.’ Of all things. A family with two young kids are browsing the children’s books. Smiling at the copious amounts of twinkle lights she put up over there.

Cally finishes serving the customer and sidles on over to where Evie is knelt in the window. Admiring her work on the tree. It looked utterly traditional. Right down to the gathered loops of beading, the velvet ribbons and the short tapered LED candles on some branches. Cally thinks her boss has really put her heart and soul into this place.

Evie modestly declines to agree. After all- almost everything in here _he_ had helped her to achieve. It was his idea to have an entire antique dresser crammed full of rare print and valuable illustrated books. Really one of a kind stuff. His brilliant ideas filled this place. Made it hard for her to stomach even stepping back in here after it all. For he is everywhere.

“Shall I start setting up the couch for the storybook hour?” Cally asks politely. Pile of books in her hands for re-stocking on low shelves. They’d oddly sold a lot of crime thrillers this week. Jo Nesbo, Steig Larsson and Lee Child. Lot of gift wraps on them for Xmas too.

Evie smiles at her assistant. “That’d be great actually. Thankyou.” She praises softly. She had a big urn of hot chocolate and marshmallows ready to hand out - in Gran’s old teacups - to kids and parents alike. Getting the cushions scattered on the floor ready for sitting on. Candy canes at the ready as a Thankyou treat for all.

Cally beams and heads across to the kids section. Stocking books first then getting the weaved basket full of cushions out ready from the small office behind the counter.

She glances out into the cold quiet street and watches life bustle by in the busy town square. Twinkle lights around every lamppost. Snowflake lights hung off the gazebo. Pedestrians getting chased and nipped on the heels by strong gales. She watches this small town tick over, people going places, getting on. She’s envious of those lucky happy few. She wishes she could be one of them once again.

Who knows how long that will be?

She goes to get a pair of scissors to trim some ribbon. Skirting behind the counter as the first group of kids and parents come swarming in. Full of energy and thankful for stepping out the cold. She welcomes them with a wholesome smile. Greets the kids too - gives them a candy cane and tells them all to go over to Cally and grab themselves a hot chocolate ready for the stories.

She finds the scissors, big rusty cold things. Heavy in hand, she’s just making her way back around the counter when she sees Cally left a folded newspaper open. Tipped over onto the property ads. Something caught her eye. And when she scoots closer to read it. She’s pretty sure her stomach flips and jerks and squirms in agony in her belly.

Property for sale; 1138 Columbia Drive.

_Kylo’s place._

She gives a wobbly smile and watery voiced hello to more people coming in the door. But dashed into her office just behind the counter. She needed privacy for just a minute. The tiny box of a room with an armchair, a table, a pin board and a kettle on the side dresser. She says against it. Eyes scanning quick over the ad.

It’s a misprint? One of the neighbours was moving instead... had to be. She’d got the wrong house.

Only when she folds out the paper. Tears prickling her eyes. Does she see that there are interior photos boasting of this ‘one of a kind’ property. Designed by an ‘architect executive in cutting edge style.’ On the market, taking offers in excess of $13 million.

He hadn’t even taken most of his furniture. It’s all still there. Exactly the way things were the first day she walked in and saw it all. Clean, dark, clinical designer space. None of her touches remained in that house in those photos. No Xmas decor. No herb plants in the kitchen by the sink. Her gran’s stitched quilt on the back of the couch. Her plants by the front door.

Just all gone.

It’s like she never existed there at all. All they’d loved and grown and shared in that big beautiful glass fortress, and now she’s been shut outside it. Peering on in, like it had never been part of her life.

She puts a hand to her stomach. Scar fluttering in pinched pain. The way her chest is ragged with heaving breath. She feels like a ghost. Like she never had any bearing on him. He’d slipped through her fingers like dry icing-sugar sand.

And now she holds in her trembling hands, the incandescent proof that he was never coming back.

She quakes with tears and breaks down into sobs. Hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. It hurts to wrack the hard-done-by muscles in her stomach with sobs. But that’s what she does. She’s in agony all over again. Losing him had been like dying a thousand deaths over and over.

And this was the final nail the coffin of her hope.

She’s interrupted by Cally knocking on the door and poking her head round to announce that it’s five to story time. Evie wipes her eyes and smiles a nod. Voice crackling like porcelain as she dried her eyes. “I’ll be right there.” She tries to stand strong. Her colleague nods. Slipping away again. Looking concerned still.

Even though she feels like crying til she runs out of tears. Now, she has to put on a Santa hat. Go out there and pretend to be smiley and cheery for an hour. To read books and act like she wasn’t falling to pieces.

It’s among one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do.

~

It’s almost New Years by the time they get him. Three days away.

Hunting took time. It took patience. Too much patience that neither twin seemed to bear much of. And often the risks of hunting far outweighed the rewards.

Kylo likens it to trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. It was tricky. And exhausting. Completely frustrating at times- driving him out his sane mind sort of frustration.

And other times it paid off.

They followed the kids advice. Eventually found the safe house in Salida.

It was empty. Had been cleared out in cautious haste by the time they got there. Kylo went feral. Smashed the remaining furniture when he found out. He crushed a table to splinters. Caved a gouge a wall with his fists. Walked out that safe house door seething with shredded knuckles. Skin split-swollen and dripping scarlet. His knuckles were too puffy, they barely fit into his leather gloves.

Ben rationally tries to placate his Twins volcanic temper. These guys were wanted in several states. They keep moving for safety. He explained that and watched his doleful brothers jaw tick. His eyes are sinking pits of black discs. Terrifying to those who stood in his way.

Each day away from Evie and his black heart calcifies stony-hard over all over again. Ben can see it. He’s moving further and further away from himself. He’s just this immovable man with a need to kill. To maim those who hurt him.

Kylo and Ben hunted on, looking for the next target. Split up to cover more ground. Ben tailed one of them south. Kylo took the rest who went north.

Ben managed to gain a key piece of information - via using his fists, and rubbing salt into the lackeys knife cuts, to find out what hiding hole the gang would be crawling into next. A house. A cabin in the woods. Up north again. Bouncing around and across two state lines.

A cabin - the most perfect target. Isolated. Not overlooked. Kylo’s been itching for blood for a month. And tonight is the night he’ll _finally_ _finally finally_ get it.

It’s a cold, still night. Even the trees don’t shudder. Not even a single breath of wind combing through them. The whole landscape seems to be holding its breath. The lake - the black lake skipping with silver - behind the woods is lifeless briny blue in the slithering crescent of dull moonlight. It laps so gently at the shore he can’t even hear it. And it must be barely a hundred yards away. The air is bleakly cold and thick enough to bite out here tonight.

Kylo stands. Well hidden behind a corpse of trees. Studying the small black shack. Gleaming tank of a thing, a 4x4 parked outside. The windows are evident square frames of honey against the blue-ink of night. This small, tin roof shack was the last place anyone would ever look. Masked on the shore.

Kylo knows how many of them are inside. five of them. The final five.

 

 _His lucky fucking number apparantly_.

 

They’ve killed two others. Left them slumped in back alleys by the dumpsters like the trash they were. Read in the local newspapers after how gang related deaths were, sadly, on the rise. They were shitty little dealers with records a mile long. And in possession of drugs. The police ate it up. There was nothing else to explore into.

O’Malley was one of them in that house tonight. Kylo knew it. Could feel it deep down in his raging bones. He was vibrating with it. With need. With fury. With the thought Evie would be safe after tonight.

Ben is stood next to him. Risking a smoke that made Kylo frown. In case they caught onto the glowing tip from the window. Ben rolled his eyes.

“We’re half a mile away. Behind a fucking bush. I’m willing to be they’re all coked up in there. High as all fuck.” He tells. Leaning suave against a tree. Overcoat lapping at his thighs. His outfit consisting of a dark cashmere sweater and jeans.

Kylo’s opted for faded jeans and black button up. Dusty old biker style boots. That pea coat still hanging around. After tonight, he’d burn it. Get rid of it for good. It had seen prison and now it was tainted with Evie’s blood.

“Lucky shits.” Ben growls in envy.

“What? Your Doctor doesn’t like having a coked up boyfriend?” Kylo asks. Not even turning his head to look at his twin. His eyes were glued on that house.

Ben’s reclining up on the tree like he’s got nowhere to be. Kylo’s in full on stalking-attack mode. Blood in his nose. Red rag ready to charge.

Ben narrows his eyes. Sucks on his cigarette.

“If you must know... I agreed to lay off some of my... _vices._ To give us a shot, or whatever it was he said.”

“Fuck me. This Hux almost sounds like he’s a half decent person.” Kylo says in dry humour.

Ben licks his furry, vogue cig and nicotine tainted teeth. “Never had one of those before.” He tells.

“A nice change from all the usual playboy bunnies and male models you used to stick your dick into.” Kylo explains. Voice sharp and dull flat. Fixated on that shack like the way a tiger senses and sizes up a wounded deer.

Ben’s about to defend his previous lifestyle choices- when the shack door opens with a whine and then slams shut, and a hulking guy in a leather jacket and dark trousers steps out to make a call. Better phone service up the slight incline toward the lake.

Kylo rips the cig out of Ben’s mouth. Crushes it to ash on the tree. And makes sure they’re both well-concealed.

“The only chance we have of getting them all cleanly, is picking them off one by one.” Kylo tells. “The last thing we need is a frenzy with five versus two.” He lays out.

In this sheer darkness. His eye sockets are shadows. The only thing that glitters malformed is when the light sparsely catches his black and gold dead eyes.

“You wanna take this first one?” Ben says. Reaching for another cigarette.

“Don’t smoke.” Kylo orders him in a hush as he takes his knife out his pocket and curls his stiff bloated fingers around it. Knuckles cracked red and purple. Taped and swollen under his gloves. The leather squeaked and flexed when he bunched his hands. They’re agony to move. But he doesn’t feel it. Not really.

Moving off in the forest. Feet cushioned on fallen leaves and the soft damp of pine needles and mossy earth. He barely rustles his clothes. Takes care where his boots tread. He weaves through the trees. Silent as a striking shade of a shadow.

He’s metres away now. He can smell the guys tack Ed Hardy cologne. Can see his breath gusting out in silver wisps. The glitter-shine of his ear hoops. The slick orange oil on his hair. Mixed with cigarettes on his clothes. Kylo waits for him to hang up on whoever he’s talking too.

Then he gets close. And before he can turn. His gloves over the guys mouth and a knife is twisted in the soft of his back. Mangling his kidneys. His pancreas. Whatever. He feels him bite into his hand. Screaming.

He dies quick. Noiselessly.

He drops dead where he’s stood. Silently taken out. One down. Four to go.

Kylo kicks him over. Shoved his phone back in his pocket. Nothing was to look amiss with the bodies. They had a plan to dispose of them all cleanly. They could break some bones. But nothing too major if the disposal plan was to work properly.

He drags the corpse out of view of the house.

He slinks back to Ben. Wiping blood on his jacket like it didn’t even fucking matter. Ben smiles maniacally at his brothers return.

“You’re looking forwards to this aren’t you?” He asks Kylo. Hands deep in his pockets.

Kylo’s silent. Just stares Ben down.

“And you won’t enjoy any of this?” He hits back. Mouth a grim line. He hasn’t smiled since they left home.

Ben leers. Licks his front teeth. “Been too long since I last did _this_.” He says. “What I like to call the old fashioned old school way.” He grins like a gleeful child.

The door clatters again. Kylo eyes another one stepping out to get something from the car. Shouting for his dead comrade. Muttering that he was a useless Spanish fuck. Kylo had thought the guy he’d killed looked Mediterranean. Tanned skin, fragrant oiled hair. He doesn’t take his eyes off the next leather jacket wearing target.

“Can’t decide if they’re trying to look tough with the leather... or if they tryna look like the fuckin T-birds.” Ben whispers.

Kylo doesn’t answer. His eyes just sparkle.

“Your turn or what? You want a go?” Kylo seeks. Ben’s smile answers for him.

The next victim goes for the car. Opens the passenger side closet to them. Back to them as he rummages for something in the pick up.

Kylo watches Ben approach. Watches him grab the guys collar. Sinks the knife in his back three times. Kicks him to the floor. Kylo listens to how the leaves skitter and scratch as Ben drags the body away. Softly shuts the truck door. Consumed back in black, folding into the undergrowth again.

Only three left now.

Ben comes back into the clearing. Bloody knife in hand. Wiping fingers on a rag in his pocket. Face stoic. Kylo could see speckles of blood on his neck. And on his grey jumper.

“Fucks sake. This is _fucking_ cashmere.” He spits in a low growl. Cursing out the dead guy.

“You knew what we were doing tonight. Why you wearing $600 Ralph Lauren cashmere?” Kylo hisses obviously at his lobotomised twin.

“We’re burning everything tonight when we’re done.” Kylo adds.

“Could’ve fucking said.” Ben scowls.

“I _did_. You were obviously way too busy sexting and flirting with your red headed boyfriend.” Kylo growls.

Ben’s brushing the viscous stuff off with disgust. Jaw grit. Now he was angry. Kylo remembers that this was the same man who stabbed someone in the arm in college for scuffing his Jordan’s.

“You said dress down...” Ben explains. Opening his arms in gesture to his immaculate outfit. “This is me... dressing down. I’m not a sloppy bitch.” He explains.

“ _Fucking hell._ ” Kylo mumbles under his breath. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Shame Ben couldn’t be the sixth victim.

“Let’s get on with this before I murder _you_ and free myself from your stupidity.” Kylo says. Stalking towards the car. Ben grumbles after him as he goes;

“Fucking disrespectful.” He bitched. Still trying to brush off blood. “Your girl owes me like, ten pies. _No!_ Scratch that. Like, 18 _million_ peach pies for this.” He hisses at Kylo’s back.

Ben’s lucky Kylo’s rage and his knife are currently facing the opposite direction.

His twin stalks to the car and smashes the window through in one punch. Big rock bunched in his hand. Alarms blare. The horn beeps. Lights flash. This draws another two out of the house. Into the dark wood. Lit up by flickering orange lights. O’Malley was the boss: he was delegating to his colleagues to go sort the problem.

Two more walk out. One with keys shuts off the noise. Turns to his friend to ask where Pérez and Gordon went.

They both die.

One walks to the shoreline. Ben slams the knife into his guts. Rips him open nearly. Hand over his mouth. Hiding the screams.

The one who steps near the car. Kylo clouts over the head with the rock. Kylo lets him fall down, and haemorrhage for a second. Before finishing him off. Stabbing him in the back.

One left.

The twins stalk to the front door. Bloodied. Enraged. Both wanting to savour this next death. O’Malley wouldn’t die slow once they get their hands on him.

They’ll make him suffer and suffer and beg for something as nice as death by the time they’re done.

A grinning Ben kicks open the door. Kylo storms in. Blood spattered. Trembling with adrenaline. Finally getting his much anticipated kill. He thunders through the dark house, all crackling fury like a stormy cloud. Energy and rage pulse from his every pore. Clogging up the air. Ben leers following in his wake.

The cabin has one dingy room. With metal single bunks and a shitty kitchen. The air is smoke and the tv blares football commentating. And there’s a half finished game of pool in the corner. Dingy sickly green felt all lit up. O’Malley is there. Poising up a shot. Cig in his mouth. He didn’t startle when these two tore into the house.

 

Didn’t even so much as turn his head-

“What’s the fucking problem this time, Gordon?” He asks. Back to them both. Not turning around.

Kylo kicks him to the ground. His knees buckle. He crumpled. Splitting his jaw with a sickening crack on the table on the way down. Biting his tongue. Blood spewing sticky and he’s barely even started yet.

He scrambles and whines back on the floorboards when he sees the twins towering over him.

“Fyi your guys are all dead, dipshit.” Ben says.

Kylo leans and grabs O’Malleys collar. Wrenches him up. Pins him back to the table with one arm. Billiard balls scatter and skit in the wake of his slammed body.

“Did you think I was gonna let you live after what you did?” Kylo snarls evenly to him. Eyes all malice, menace and dark fire.

“You really are dumber than I remember.” He smiles.

He drinks in the fear in this shitbags eyes. Kylo grabs his scraggly neck. He wants to snap it to dust and be done.

But where’s the fun in that?

“For every cut and every bruise you gave to her?” He tells evenly. “I’m gonna give you _twenty_.” He promises with a tugging smirk.

Ben snickers. Idly raiding the cupboards for a drink. He finds a bottled beer and snaps the top off. Dabbing a finger onto the chopped coke on the kitchen table and sucking his fingertip clean. He licks his teeth after. Not bad. But not good. Nothing like the top quality stuff he’s used to. He swigs back the beer instead.

O’Malley babbles and begs. Kylo hears none of it.

“Shhh. Shh. You can take it.”

He promises as he gags him. Ties his legs and arms into a chair and starts cutting. Draws lines all over his scrawny skin with his knife. Laying in a few punches every now and then. Snapping a collarbone. Breaking most of the ribs. The jaw was already broken. He pops a kneecap too.

They keep him alive for hours. Edging between life and death and torture. He’s screaming and begging in agony before long.

Ben suggests handfuls of gritty coarse salt in the wounds to make them sting and tear. Kylo pours O’Malleys own bottle of whisky over some of the deeper cuts instead. Listens to the bone rattling screams. He shuts him up by kicking his heavy boot into his back. Bruising and breaking what already wasn’t broken. Skin or bones. It’s all shattered and split.

“Ooh that shit looks deep.” Ben comments. As Kylo presses on a cut he carved in his back earlier.

O’Malley whines. Kylo grabs his jaw.

“Shut it.” He barks out. “None of your friends bitched this much when I stabbed them in the back.” Kylo insults. Ben barks a laugh.

He’s perched on the billiard table. A spectator for all intents and purposes. Smoking. Having helped himself three more beers thankyou very much-

Kylo let him lay a few cuts in. Cause some pain. They switch and Kylo gulps down half a beer with his bloody bandaged hands. Easing down on the patched leather sofa. Springs creak. The furniture sags. He has the taste of far off rage and frothy beer sour on his tongue. He’s sated a little by this - making his enemy bleed.

There’s blood all over him. Sticky on his hands. Splashed up his arms. His clothes. Freckling his face. He watches as Ben drags the knife carving down O’Malleys cheek. The duct tape they slapped across his mouth is shiny with blood. It’s dripping off him, everywhere, onto the crappy sheets they laid out that they’ll later burn. No evidence to leave.

“Stop squirming.” Ben sneers at him. By now the scumbag is limp with blood loss and dozy from pain.

“Don’t know how much longer he’s got in him.” Ben says. Tilting his head speaking in a affable uncaring tone. Yanking his fingers in his sweaty blood slicked hair. Yanking his head up. His bruised beaten eyes. Puffy. Like bloated raw meat. Already nearly swelling shut, crack open in panic. Blood vessels burst in his eyes. The pupils were red and black now.

“How much longer we gonna drag this out Ky? I’m desperate for a shower and getting my dick sucked.” Ben whines.

Kylo’s glares. _Fine_. Heaven forfend his brother goes a month without being blown.

“Take the gag off.” Kylo says to Ben. Standing up and walking back over. His Twin rips it right off. Chuckling when the creep yelps. Sweaty lips slick with spit and rivulets of blood.

Kylo stops. Towering over the man who almost killed the love of his life. That big merciless mind filled with rage for this pitiful thug.

“You see, when I stab someone. I don’t do it from behind like a coward.” He tells him. Twirling the knife in his fingers. Blood drying and wet oozes between his bandages fingers.

“When I kill someone I have the courage and the temerity to look them right in the eyes.” He explains.

“You lied your sneaky way into my home and you attacked Evie from behind like the coward you are. That’s one thing I’ll remember you by. O’Malley. The shitty little coward.” He sneers.

He runs the tip of his knife, dragging it along the scar on the bastards neck. Over the heaped scar he gave him that he gave him years ago.

“You don’t deserve a quick death. And I’m sure as fuck not gonna give you the satisfaction of one.” Kylo says.

“That seems more than fair.” Ben chirps. Chipping in.

He slowly, inch by inch, sinks the knife into his belly. O’Malley squirms and bleeds and begs.

“Don’t beg me. It’s _pathetic_.” Kylo snaps. “This is what you did to her.” Twists the knife right round.

“Seems appropriate I that this is how I finally get rid of you.”

The knifes half hanging out his gut. Kylo continues to take his time. He’s shaking and whining when the knife bottoms out to the hilt in his belly. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to pierce some organs and slowly, drag him into an agonising end.

He rips the knife out. O’Malley sags. Head lolling. Slack on his neck. But he wasn’t dead yet.

“Get the others ready like we discussed.” Kylo says to Ben. He strides out with glee. Happy to be almost done with this so he could speed on home and finally, finally, get his boyfriend in bed.

He kicks O’Malleys bleeding thigh as he wanders past. Big boot planting square in his leg. Ploughing hard to his battered skin. Scumbag barely has the energy to scream.

“Nice knowing ya.” He grins insensitively to the dying man. Puffing a cigarette as he goes to do the dirty work.

Kylo sits and wordlessly watches him groan, and bleed and die. Nothing but apathy in his eyes watching this death unfold. He stabbed him in the gut. He was being slowly poisoned by his own body.

He passes with a crackle of a moan bubbling with blood and spit out his mouth. Finally slumping down. Devoid of life. The only thing moving now is the blood that still drips off his gaunt lifeless corpse.

It was finally done. He could go _home_.

Kylo doesn’t know if he’s more relieved, or more disappointed. He’s eviscerated this man to bits. Tortured him and gave him one of the most painful endings. And his brain still reasons that it _wasn’t_ enough.

Ben comes back in, bloodied and muddy. Hands smeared with blood and dirt. He nods at the creeps body. The sky is just starting to brighten. Glimmering ochre-gold with the dawn blazing the tips of the trees to flame. Thawing away the chill of night.

“Ready for the finale?” He asks. Kylo nods. Cutting his rope bonds.

They strap them all into the 4x4. Litter the car foot wells with bottles and beer cans. Some drugs shoved in some coat pockets. They leave O’Malley in the boot as Ben drives the shitty truck up the road a ways. Up near the old metal bridge. No one was around this time in the morning. The road was empty and devoid of life. No one lived way out here. That had been the gangs undoing. Thinking they were safe. When actually, it gave Kylo and Ben their opportunity.

Kylo stops behind Ben in their rental. They wrangle the shitbag into the drivers seat. Shut the doors. Ben takes off the handbreak and let the car roll into the freezing waters. It sinks, and gurgles and froths the icy depths. Black roof glimmering gold off the sun before it sinks fully. Only ripples and air bubbling in its wake. Evidence that it was ever really there at all.

They’d never be found. Not until there was nothing left but bones. No one looked for bodies out here. It’s desolately populated. What’s the point?

Even if O’Malley wasn’t fully dead. He would be now. Kylo thinks it a fitting end. Body so broken. Socketed into a car. Clawing for air and not able to get any. Suffocating and bleeding. Helpless to his fate.

That’s how Kylo had felt when he watched Evie get attacked.

The two brothers stand side by side. Bloodied. Clothes gritty with mud. Watching the evidence get swallowed up into the lake with finality.

Ben smokes - again. Looks across to Kylo. Whose watching the lake lap into silence again.

“Feel better now?” Ben asks.

Kylo doesn’t answer. He turns and walks back to the car. “Let’s just take care of the evidence.”

They clean up that filthy shack in the woods. Make it look undisturbed. As if it had never been touched. Luckily, no blood got anywhere but on the sheets and on them. They bundled everything to trash bags. And drive the long drive back to the lodge to burn it all. Clothes. Plans. Boots. All of it is cast into the metal can bonfire Kylo starts.

Ben goes for his shower. Still bitching about his ruined jumper.

It’s a cold bright day. And the smoke clings acrid to his clothes as he watches everything ripple and curl grey into dead ash in the flames. He’s stood watching everything crumble in the fire. In an old pair of dark jeans and a Henley. It was freezing out. He barely felt it tug at his skin.

Ben steps out on the porch. Watching his twin. Hands in his pockets. He leans on the lodge porch railings. Looks at the empty husk of a hulking man masquerading as his brother.

“Much left?”

“This is the last of everything.” Comes the glum answer. Dull. Lifeless.

“Kylo, Jesus Christ. Spit it the _fuck_ out.” Ben coaxes. “You’ve been this moody and distant since we left home.” He says.

“Don’t get me wrong - it’s a refreshing change from the nauseating sight of you all in love and sickeningly happy.” Ben adds. “But even brood reaches it’s annoying limits.”

Kylo stares at the fire. Jaw ticking. Clamped shut.

“I can’t go back.” He offers simply.

Ben frowns. “Why the ever-living-fuck not?” He demands.

“I didn’t _protect_ her, Ben. She won’t want me back.”

 _She can’t_.

He can’t walk into that town full of people he’s come to like and know and have them spit hatred at him. Knowing their dear Evie getting hurt was all his fault. He couldn’t shoulder their blame. It was safer if he stayed away.

Ben scoffs. “That’s such _bullshit_.” He barks out.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Kylo. You’re the smartest fucking guy I know. Aside from my very good self.” He flatters. “Annoyingly. You’re actually probably the smarter of the two of us.” He sighs. Tapping his fingers on the wood banister.

“So don’t be stupid. It’s beneath you. She wants you. She fucking _chose_ you.”

“So everyone keeps saying. But she was wrong to do that. What kind of boyfriend can’t even keep his girl safe?”

 _There it was._ The bedrock of his doubts. He doesn’t feel good enough. Worthy enough.

Ben thumps down the wooden steps. Coming right up close behind him.

“Kylo....” He says with a grave tone. Ben never did serious. He could do everything on earth but be serious.

_Had his philandering brother suddenly grown a conscience? Or a heart?_

He reluctantly turns to look back at his brother. Just over his shoulder. Barely raising his eyes in his direction. Too ashamed. Too caught up in his own shame spiral. Old reflexes springing up from their childhood. He can hears dad shouting spittled speech of blame. Reminding his sons they are as worthless as the very dirt on his boots.

“Listen.” He orders. “We’re lucky, Alright? So damn lucky being as royally fucked up as we are, that someone decided to stick around us for more than five minutes, for more than money or sex.” He offers.

“Think about _that_.” He tells.

“Because I’ve seen how Evie looks at you like you single handedly hung the moon in fucking sky. I doubt she’ll ever change her mind.”

Kylo’s already turning away. Staring back into the amber flames. Black-copper blaze mirrored in his eyes.

“I’m going to go pack for home. I suggest you do the same.”

Ben walks back inside. After beating his twin upside the head with some hard core truth. Who’d ever have thought he’d be the sensitive, sensible one? He chuckles to himself. Slipping into his bedroom to get his luggage. The irony of it all.

He’ll have to do something reckless and truly slutty later to even it out.

~

It’s New Years. And she’s alone.

She has a wild night in planned. A bottle of wine. Some Thai take-out ordered. And she’s going to ignore all the sappy-emotional New Years Eve stuff on TV and watch some light rom-coms.

Listen to fireworks pop and burst the sky from the event in town. Wake up tomorrow to start on another loveless-miserable year. The perennial spinster is back where she belongs. In this cosy little house. On her couch. No company save for the chickens outside in their coop. No man.

Flo and Arthur are out at a cousins party in the next state over. She was invited. But after the bustle of a xmas with too many questions that pinched and stabbed at her heart, she wasn’t ready to face New Years the same way.

All the kids asked after him. Sat putting presents under the tree. Eddy and Zack were sad not to see him there. Minnie was the worst. That little face all wide and wet with curious eyes “ _Wheres Kylo?_ ” She whines. Almost crying for him.

Evie’s sat there, on her knees, near the tree with them all, feeling like she could actually quite do with a good cry herself. She hugs Minnie and kisses her cheek.

Daisy pipes up too. “Does he not like us anymore?” With a glum expression of fading hope and joy.

“Of course not.” Evie manages to croak. She hugs daisy close. “He loves you guys. He just... had to go _away_ for a little while. That’s all.” She tries to lie brightly. The kids don’t seem to buy it.

Flo pipes up from the sofa. “He’s gone on a hunting trip.” She explains.

“At Christmas?” Zack asks questioning.

“It’s a very _special_ hunting trip.” Flo offers. Evie hugs Minnie onto her lap. Tries not to wail tears. She taps at a big box before them. Distraction. It was always a safe diversion.

“What’s this one then? I think it’s the present you were telling me so much about earlier?” She beams. But her smile is brittle and wavering and Daisy watches her try and sneakily dry her red blurry eyes. They say no more about it. They don’t want to make Evie any the sadder.

She feels blue tonight, though. But she knows being around happy people and friends will make her feel worse. She’d have to fake enthusiasm. And her heart and cheeks will hurt from smiling too wide.

She’s better off just herself tonight. In her ugly saggy cotton pyjamas. Striped. White and blue. She’s had a bath. Taken some pain killers for her pinching scar. Stitches cane out a while but it still tugged, giving her trouble sometimes. Like a fish tugging on a fishing line. Every so often it jerks and twists.

She’s in her kitchen. Stood at the sink washing some mugs when the door goes. She calls through that she won’t be a minute. Rushes to dry her hands. Shuffled through looking a tumbled mess. Hair wrangled into a bun on her scalp. Socked feet scuffing the floors. Embarrassing. Here she was answering the door to joey, the takeout delivery guy, in her pyjamas and stripy beige and white Jane Austen novelty socks - they had the first verse to Pride and Prejudice on the soles. Luckily he wouldn’t see that bit.

She grabs some cash off the side table and goes to open the door. Flicking the porch lights on. She doesn’t look through the window. She calls through as she unlocks the door. All the new locks she had put on. Undoing the chain.

“Hey joey, hows your-“ She looks up. She stops.

Her heart crams itself up into her mouth and her lungs shrivel dry.

It wasn’t joey. This wasn’t her Thai food.

Because stood there. All tall dark coat. Pale doleful face. Honey-lemon eyes sunk with sorrow. Rakish ink hair. Bandaged bruised purple-red fingers.

 

 _Kylo_.

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel so inclined; Let me hear some thoughts? 💕


	48. No Way To Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short I know but (a secret about me) I have a soft sappy heart and couldn’t resist posting this tonight 💕 
> 
> Ooh ooh ooh and!!!! This song hello listen please good cause it’s amazing and it’s a mood™
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vJ-pfYrDEpM

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It feels like an eternity that they just stand there. Staring at each other. No noise. Just the woods carrying on behind them. Wind blowing. Leaves catching on his Barbour boots.

His hands are limp by his sides. She’s just leaning on the door for support. The wind is chilling. Slipping up and through the thin fabric of her top.

“I just need a minute. Then I’ll go.” He states outright.

She snaps back into life. “Um. uh. Come in. It’s viciously cold out there.” Shes trying to offer. One arm wrapping around herself. Shielding back from the door.

She’s shrinking away from him. His cavernous chest aches from that awful sight. He didn’t consider that she’s actually stepping back from the cold.

Kylo’s lips crack open. His voice comes stumbling out. Dry and unsure. “I shouldn’t, really.”

She looks at him. Sighs deep. “Please?” And when he looks at her she’s just those big blue blue blue eyes. Blinking up all innocent at him. That sweet caring face he missed.

He can’t ignore that plea.

He nods and shuffled in. Manages to look small for once in his life as he squeezes past her in the doorway. Bringing a big gust of cold night air and cologne and cashmere from his wool coat with him. He’s not wearing his usual pea coat. This instead is a straight cut overcoat. Collar folded up. Tucking his body shape into clean, long, neat lines.

Her heart pangs that he’s not even fully looking at her. He’s trying to treat her as if she’s not even _there_.

That stings.

He stands idly in her hallway. Hunched shoulders. Hooks his hands in his pockets. Watches her shut and lock the door after him. _Good safe girl._ Once bitten. Twice shy.

That’s evidence of his failings right there- he was so bad at protecting her that she scurries home in the dark at night. Bolts the door after herself. This is all so wretched. Where they are now. What’s become of the loved up hot-and-heavy-couple.

She turns to face him. Her back to the door. She nods to the lounge. “Go on through. Can-can I get you anything?” She offers. Nervously tucking her too big sleeves over her knuckles. Shuffling in cold awkwardness. Still by the door. Still looking scared of him.

It sickens Kylo right down to the lowest pit of his stomach.

So unlike them. These cold polite offerings. Unfamiliar words falling from uncertain mouths. _It’s not them. It’s not._

His throat bobs with his answer. “ _No_.” He says, rather sharply.

Swallowing in embarrassment. Then adding a soft “Thanks.” He hasn’t had to use any nice words for weeks. He’s getting back in the habit of it. His tongue falling soft for her again. Not ruthless as it had needed to be for the nasty things he had to do.

She nods. Walking on shaky legs through to the living room. She goes first. Enormously aware that he’s there, at her back. Walking along behind her. She’s overwhelmed and terrified all at once. Evie’s so terrified that he’ll tell her he doesn’t want this anymore. It’s worse enough for her brain to think it - it’s worse still to hear him say it in that baritone husk she adores. Low and melodic.

She feels like she’s been tortured for months. And tonight is the long awaited execution. The firing squad of his words that will kill her outright.

They come into her dark lounge. He sits on the couch. She sets herself opposite on the armchair. It’s cosy. The fires lit. Crackling popping. Candles that he bought her are perfuming the air. His dark, and warm, and cosy at night. He’ll miss this cosy little house when he had to leave it, for good, tonight. 

“I can’t...stay long.” He says.

“ _Oh_.” She says. Or asks. He can’t quite tell.

 _Oh god no._ _This is it._ She thinks. _All the things she can’t bear to hear._

“I just came to tell you that you’re safe now. You don’t have to ever...worry about being hurt by them ever again. They’re, all, gone.”

Her brow crinkles. “All?” She asks.

“O’Malley was part of a gang.” He explains quickly.

Her stomach ties into knots. Like wet flannel. “I see.” She squeaks out softly. Her scar twinges. She puts a hand over it. Muscles ticking with pain.

He swallows again. Looking, for the first time in his life, Unconfident. He was a powerful man but that’s all lost here. She is the one person he’d ever be weak for.

She nods. Wets her lips. “Well. I um. Thankyou?” She breathes out. Unsure. He had more to say. Lots more that he wasn’t saying.

His secret does nothing to quell the fear within her heart.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright. And that you knew.” He offers. Sounding like he wants to leave. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Kylo-“

The door goes. Rattled in the frame with aggressive sudden knocks. They both spook at the noise. Hearts pumping panic for a second. His head whipped round like he was on high alert. She sags in frustration. Sighs. “Just. Wait one minute?” She asks. He nods.

She answers the door. Pays joey, chats quickly with a wobbly smile. Puts the takeout on the side in the kitchen. She’d ordered enough noodles and curries for ten after all. And she slips back in the lounge where he’s waiting.

He clenches his fist as the smell of her smacks him in the nose when she passes by. _Fuck_.

Perfume and jasmine shampoo. She’d changed it whilst he’d been away. It used to be lavender. He can scent cotton too, from the fucking unbearably cute pyjamas she has on. It’s hurting him even keeping away from touching her. He just wants to grab her. Kiss her senseless. Feel her in his arms again. Just wrap around her and never leave. Ever.

She doesn’t back down. This is too important. She stands a foot in front of him.

“Well. I’m...” Hesitating. “Kylo-I’m. I’m _not_ ok.” She lets out.

“You left.” She tells him.

“I know you had to leave. I don’t blame you whatsoever for going.” She says.

“I had to go. I couldn’t let them-“ He swallows. Interjects.

“I missed you.” She says with a broken sob.

He breaks.

“Why?” He frowns.

She tilts her head at him. Her body language spoke: ‘ _You really can’t think why?’_

His elbows lean on his knees. He’s fiddling with his bandages around his knuckles.

“Evie I, _god_ , thought was watching you _die_ , that night. Right in my arms.” He says. Finally letting out what wasn’t being said.

She weeps. “Oh, Kylo.”

That’s what he’s been thinking? All this time? That is was his fault. He was shouldering the blame for all this. Sat there, taking up half her couch. A wretched, desolate man. Voice broken. Spirit broken. Barely held together.

She goes over and stands right in front of him now. Stood up by his knees and lays her hands on his. She’s crying. He’s trying very hard not too.

_Don’t dont. Please don’t. He sobs inside. If you touch me I can’t do this. And I have to do this to protect you._

“I’m _here_. I was hurt and it was horrible. But I’m right here.” She reassured.

“You got hurt cause of me. I _couldn’t_ protect you.” He tells her. “I’m fucked up. And useless. And I don’t deserve you.” He tells. Really tells her.

“That’s what you believe?” She asks incredulously.

She holds his hands. He tries to pull them back. She doesn’t let him. She grabs on again.

“Please, listen to me.” She sobs. Her voice is all thick. Eyes streaming. Lip wobbling. “ _Please_ just listen...”

It pours out of her. “ _Kylo_. I love you.”

He looks at her with an expression that she’s never seen before; vulnerable. In pain. In fear.

“I heard you say it that night. But I never got a chance say it back.” She chokes out. Stroking his hands.

Gently stroking around his taped knuckles. Big and bruised brute hands. But they were all softness and kind when they were touching her. One of them is trembling. She doesn’t know who it is. It might be both of them.

She looks up at him. Eyes wet. He bores a look down back into her. Big rough black eyes melting for her.

“I thought you were going to hate me when I came back.” He confesses in a whisper. Throat bobbing with grief. “That you couldn’t stand to be around me.”

“I could never hate you. Not after all you’ve done for me.”

“You shouldn’t love me, Evie.” He tries to put her off. Breaking down. Saying it like it was the biggest criminal act she could commit. Like he was ashamed to have made her feel that way.

“But I do.” She counters. Not sorry. Not apologetic about it at all. She won’t let him get away like this. _Not like this._

“And you can go if you like.... but I’m not letting you go without telling you. My love won’t change, I’m afraid. Not now. Not _ever_.” Her throat cloyed with tears.

“Kylo, please, _stay_.” She begs.

Crying. Holding onto his hands like he was keeping her rooted on this earth. Clutching him. Desperate.

His resolve breaks. Just like that.

Like taut twine pulled over the heat of a candles flame. He snaps.

His hands reach out for her where she’s stood. Takes her hips. He curls his fingers around them. Tugs her close.

Sobs into her stomach.

Resting his head against her. Bowed. Hair stroking her tummy through the cotton. She can feel his tears sink in.

She holds his neck. Holds his hair. Strokes him. Holds him. Such a big big man people assumed he couldn’t fall apart. But he can and here, in her arms, croaking sobs into her belly, crying and shattered and lonely-no-more and he does.

Nuzzles his nose into her. His forehead pressing into her soft skin. She smelled so good. She smelled like cotton and honeysuckle washing powder, and _home._

Evie holds him. Rocks into him. Her head bows forwards on her shoulders. He’s babbling words into her in that thick deep voice. Like they could sink in her skin like osmosis. Melt into her rounded soft belly. So soft.

“I love you too. I love you. I’m so sorry. _Fuck._ I’m _so_ sorry Evie.” He pleads.

She’s crying happy tears. Hot and briny stinging salt pouring over her creased smiling cheeks. He’s nuzzling kisses into her now. Nose prodding into her. Gulping for breath. For air. Hot gusts of words fogging up through the cotton.

She just holds him. They hold each other.

They stay like that until his rambling and tears stop. She soaks up every heart-broken word. Every pain soaked syllable. She draws him closer. Kisses and kisses and kisses his head. Hair tangling in her nose.

Before she realises it. His hands are smoothing. Big, broken and hot. Moving over her skin. Tough calluses on his violent fingers rasping, catching against her smooth pyjamas.

When his fingers dip under her shirt. Hot on her skin. She knows what he wants. She lets him have it.

She steps back only a fraction. He looks up at her. Big pleading eyes brimmed under strands of his dark hair. She ghosts away his tears trickling down with a swipe of her thumb. She takes them away for him.

She smiles gently. All wet lashes and shaded sapphire tears and splotchy cheeks. _Gorgeous_. “Let me see you.” He says in a voice so small she thinks it can’t have possibly come from him.

He tucks her shirt up. Folding it and keeping it up over her stomach. She lets her arms hang limp by her sides. Braced outwards. He peels it up, revealing more and more skin.

And then the pink twisted scar is right there. Knotting and tugging at her faultless skin. Stained red raw. A big diagonal track from ribs, slashed down to her belly button.

He swallows again. Tilting his head to look at her. Eyes scanning all over it. Looking sorrowful and heated. There’s something lingering there in the blackness. Like something moving at the bottom of a black ocean. Hidden, but present.

He pulls her close until his plush dry lips meet her skin. He kisses the scar. Over and over. Lip wobbling. Then the tears start again.

This woman has pulled him apart. She’s made him love. Made him feel. He couldn’t be without her. _Not ever._

She’s got her hands tangled in his hair. Trying not to cry too much too. She knows how much, and what this means to him. What that scar embodies. How it represents why they were torn apart.

“Don’t you dare leave me again.” Evie says in a hush. Pulling him as close as she can get. “Don’t you ever dare.” She cries.

“Never again.” He repeats like a mantra. “Never again Kitten.” He kisses into her. Talking between smooches. Hugging her around the waist. Just breathing her in. Cupping her hips, her ass, anything that’s close. Nose deep in her soft fragrant skin. His tears falling onto her knotted healing flesh.

“You weren’t you blame for this scar.” She whispers to him. “You weren’t the reason someone else was awful to me.” She tells him.

“I should’ve stopped him.” He counters harshly. Growling.

“You did stop him.” She says. Knowing full well he would’ve hunted the guy who hurt her to the ends of the earth and picked his bones clean.

“And now you’re _home_.” She says thankfully. Leaning down to kiss his hair. Those russet black locks smell like acrid woodsmoke, cold air and Aqua Di Parma.

She tugs her arms around his head. Traps him in a hug.

He brings her to him. Cups her gently, looks up to see she’s alright, she nods, and he slowly gets her in his lap.

Different to how he was before - he handles her gently. Treats her tenderly. As if she’s an opus made of tissue paper stretched thin to breaking point. Treats her like she is the most precious thing in the world to him. Because she is and always has been. He was a fool to have thought anything different.

Hand curling over her legs. Wrapping around her back. Bringing her the couch with him. Perching her on his lap. Drawing himself completely to surround her.

She holds him. Nuzzles into him. He squeezes her gently. She lets herself whisper a secret confession into his shoulder. He’s just sat there with her. Drinking her in again. All of her - all that that he’s missed.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.” She cries to him. Stroking his hair.

Cupping his cheek in her tiny hands. He kisses and kisses over the bandage around her wrist where it had fractured. He’ll kiss every scar. Every cut. Soothe her with his lips.

“I didn’t know if you’d hate me. I thought you wouldn’t....want me anymore.” He divulged. Nose nudging into her temple.

She tucks her hands around his jaw. Kisses him square on the mouth. Lips cupping each side of his jaw real gentle.

“I will always want you, you silly man.” She smiles into his lips. Pecking him afterwards. He holds her gently for that sweet confession.

He’s studying her then. Gently takes her hand and stretched out her wrist to see the cloth bandage wrapped around it. He can even just about see the greenish tinge of disappearing bruises on her temple. The last night he saw her, in that hospital bed everything had looked so vivid and raw. He could hardly bear it. All the ugly bruises. The cuts on her face.

“Does your wrist still hurt?” He asks. Gently kissing the back of it. She shakes her head.

“No. Not anymore.” She answers genuinely. “The knife injury gives me the most pain mainly. All the muscles got cut. I just have to move a bit gentler than I’m used too.” She explains.

Thumbing his strong cheekbone. He puts a big hand on her belly. Spans all of it with his palm. As if he could somehow draw out all the poison and pain.

They’ve just closed their eyes and are just relaxing together. Listening to the fire blaze in the hearth. Listen to the clock tick. Just comforting and soothing each other.

“I’m sorry I missed Christmas.” He says after a long minute. Her tree opposite reminds him that he’s bypassed the holiday. He knew she would’ve been at Flo’s. But he took it a personal failing that he missed the occasion.

“Everyone asked after you, you know. They missed you. Especially Minnie. And Daisy. And-well, _all_ of them actually.” She smiles.

“I missed everyone.” He says. Because it was truth.

He spent Xmas drinking way too much whiskey with Ben in an outdated hunting lodge in the middle of nowhere. Their Xmas meal was crappy cheap takeout.

“I still have your xmas presents. All wrapped and waiting.” She explains. “I couldn’t get rid of them.” Laying her head on his shoulder.

It’s then Kylo notices the presents under the tree. All brown paper. Tied with red and white twine and candy cane labels. Little snippets of Xmas tree wound into the knot of the ribbon.

He smiles into her hair. Kisses the tip of her ear. “I still have yours too. They’re at my place. We’ll have to exchange them late.” He smiles.

“We can do Christmas again. Just we two.” She beams. Excited. He nuzzles her cheek. Kisses at the tip of her nose.

“I see you finally sold the house.” She admits.

“I saw it in the paper.” He’s quiet. Just combs loose strands of her hair through his big stiff fingers. The knuckles all bunched and swollen.

“I couldn’t keep it after what happened.” He explains. Looking down at her. All those rippling folds showing in his neck and chin as he looks down. She kisses them. All his little moles and imperfections. The tattoos. His scars.

“You haunted every inch of it.” He describes. She hugs him as tight as her still healing body will allow. She barely covers half his chest. But she’s warm and this intimacy is the finest thing that’s happened to him in weeks. She nuzzles his shoulder.

She knew he couldn’t feel a lot of things. He was emotionally stunted. Maybe even damaged - though she’d never degrade him to think of him as that.

But even him with his callous nature, he can still register the amount of pain those memories would cause. He couldn’t step back into that house after what occurred in its walls. He hadn’t.

He had an army of people gather his things. A scant few possessions scooped up. He had the place emptied. Deep Cleaned. It was on the market within 48 hours of the attack happening. The realtor phoned that keen offers were now creeping well past $21 million. It was a luxurious house, people with the means clamoured madly for it.

Kylo _hates_ that place now. He wants rid of it. He’s moved to one of his other lake-houses. Half an hours drive from here. He just needed to be somewhere where Evie’s loving little touches didn’t rip his chest open every room he inhabited.

Turns out - it did that anyway. He walks into one of his sparsely designed, clean line, modern rooms. Goes to have a shower. Or goes to make a cup of coffee in the kitchen. And it feels like _nothing_ to him. Dull. Empty. Lifeless.

So so devoid of anything, now he’s lived with her bright sunny way of making any room feel comfy. Making his series of cold walls into a home.

 

And when he was stood there in his dark lake house. The one he used to think of as his retreat. His nirvana. Watching the cold lake ripple across the horizon. Grey and dead. Even the trees surrounding the view along the shore were scant and gnarled. Ugly. Whilst he was reeling from the feel of it so void and still, one thought echoes in his head;

 _She’s_ his home.

It could no longer be a house. A place. A multi-million luxury build with everything one person could ever need. He had all the money and the cars he could ever want. He dresses in the worlds finest tailored suits. He’s been everywhere, seen everything. Dined like a king, and lives like one too.

But it’s all spoiled. Rotting and hollow when she isn’t there. That’s what he knew know. How bitter that realisation was to face on his own. 

He missed the way her scented candles fill the air. How she makes tea. How he’d come home at night and she’d be cooking a meal for them. Because she wanted to welcome him back from work. She hands him a glass of wine or whiskey and they eat dinner and talk about their work days.

She feels like she should apologise for his confession. For causing him pain when she wasn’t even there.

“I’m sorry.” She speaks into his neck. Presses words to his skin.

“Don’t be.” He hushes back. “Not for any of it.”

“Ben went with you too didn’t he?” She suddenly pipes up. Stroking his hair.

Admiring how handsome all the angles of his face are. That big-strong handsome blade of a nose. The kissable chapped lips. She’ll put some cherry balm on them for him later. She kept a tin of it by her bed.

“Unfortunately.” He confirms. Nuzzling his temple into her. He’s holding her wounded bandaged arm with his shredded purple knuckles. Looking at how this attack had battered them both. But now the festering wounds that plagued them both, could be sewn shut.

“I can’t explain to you the depth of my despairs taking that idiot. How’d you guess he came with me?” He asks curious

“I got a very odd text from him. Something about peach pies?” She frowns. He shakes his head.

“Ignore him. It’s far safer that way.” He tells. Plucking kisses to her fingertips. The last time he had seen these hands, he remembers feeling raged over the fact her knuckles were caked, ringed with dry blood.

“I had a feeling. For all the ways you and Ben are so different. You are brothers under it all. Personalities aside. He wouldn’t let you go it alone.” She muses

He makes a grumbling noise of grumpy agreement.

“I wanted to strangle him before we’d even reached Tennessee.” He growls. She smiles. And he did. His brother telling them to pull over at every Starbucks. Smoking in the car. Blasting, Lady Gaga on the radio, singing along like they were on a frat-boy road trip.

Evie sits up, remembering the takeout booking on her kitchen counter. “Hungry? You look like you could use feeding up.” She strokes his more prominent cheekbone with her thumb.

Truth was, he hadn’t been eating right lately. He’d been ignoring his hunger for other things. Pushing it off and off to get the job done. _Dinner with Kitten?_ What could be better than that.

He nods. Slowly rises to a stand. They go into the kitchen and bring back the food. Pad Thai. Spicy coconut chicken curry. Catfish green mango salad. Cilantro and ginger rice too. It’s too cold in the kitchen. They eat on the floor by the fire. Sat at the low coffee table, Kylo pours them both wine. They sit on cushions and they talk about anything. Everything. Nothing.

Even when Kylo’s eating out the foil takeout carton- practically inhaling - his food, he still doesn’t stop touching her. Where her knees are folded up. He’s stroking her kneecap through the cotton. Patting her shin where the bottoms ride up over her ridiculous literature themed socks that makes him smile.

They eat up quick. Not leaving a crumb. Evie feeds Kylo thirds. And let’s him have the last steamed dumpling. Shoves it into his mouth before he can protest. She hates to think he wasn’t taking care of that big body. Leaving his belly empty. She’ll soon rectify this. She’ll cook him a completely ridiculously big breakfast in the morning and get it down his throat.

They go to bed. He carries her up to the stairs. Hugging her in a fireman’s hold. “My feet work fine.” Shes smiling at him. He placates her with a kiss to the cheek. Let’s him take care of her.

He worries for a second that he doesn’t have any fresh clothes here. She opens her wardrobe and shows him the trousers and shirts hung there. Ironed seamlessly and washed. Also showing him the piles of jumpers she kept folded in a drawer. Along with socks, underwear, some lounge pants too. He forget he left all that here.

They wash up for bed. He ditches his clothes for lounge pants. Then they’re sharing the sink they scrub their teeth with peppermint foam. He opens the cupboard for his face wash. And sees that whilst he couldn’t bare to have mementos of her cluttering his house and hurting his heart. She wasn’t like that. She kept and cherished every little thing. Share a minty kiss and get into bed.

He pulls her close in bed and hugs her. Slipping her little frame across the sheets, under the covers, tucking her into his chest. She kisses his chest. His pecs. Snuffles smiles into his neck. His big paws stroke up and down her back. She’d abandoned the bottoms. He had too. Just underwear on. Sleeping naked would be far too tempting. Better keep thin barriers of clothing between them.

She was still only four weeks healed. He won’t hurt her by fucking her - even though he really badly wants too. Just lay her down and worship her. But tonight he can be her lover without being intimate with her. The thought he might cause her pain for his own lust is an absolute agony. She understands. She’s just happy to have him next to her in bed. Clothing optional. She wants to kiss so all those big broad muscles.

They lie in bed facing each other. Listen to the New Years fireworks burst and shriek in the sky. Evie turns and looks at her bedside clock. It’s three minutes past midnight. The start of a new year - and they’d be together.

She turns back to face her bedmate. Who crooks that naughty loving grin across at her. “Come here.” He opens his arms. She can’t resist.

She curls into that chest. Cups his face. He loops his arms over her shoulders and he kisses her. Deep. Slow. It’s just heartbeats and slow dragging breath. Losing themselves in the other. Hot skin and mouths and cotton and bedsheets. And finally back in the arms of the person who makes their heart pound.

It doesn’t get heavy - but they both can’t deny the phenomenal bliss that spreads through them.

He mumbled her name in between kissing her lips numb. She pulls back with rosy cheeks and shaded eyes. “What is it?”

“Will you- come somewhere with me tomorrow?” He asks, panting. Fingers trailing through her loose hair. Unable to go another second without smooching her again. She’s holding those big bunched shoulders. Feeling all the power laying dormant under his inked skin.

“Of course.” She smiles.

“Only if you do the same for me...” She grins. Smoothing fingertips into his big firm pecs. They kiss again but he pulls back after digesting her words.

“I’ve got a lunch to go to tomorrow. It’s very special and I’d like it if you’d come with me.” She asks. Hopes.

He cups her neck. Curious as to where they could be going New Year’s Day. They both had surprises set in store it seems.

“Yes. I will.” Is his answer. Doesn’t want her out his sight. Not ever. As dramatic and extreme as that is. But he’s stunted and starving and will drink in their intimacy and love like he’s desperate and dehydrated, and on the razors edge of death.

They kiss again. She smiles so much he has to break away.

“By the way, Happy New Year.” She beams. He chuckles. Breathes her in.

He strokes her cheek. Looking so disastrously smitten. Granite eyes all warm again. _Why was he ever foolish enough to want to stay away from this?_

“Happy New Year, Kitten.”

 

 

 

~

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The place he’d brought her too looked like a straight snapshot right out of a travel magazine. She expected some grand cosy country hotel, a colonial B&B situated. Hiding tucked away just beyond the tree line. 

They woke and rose, showered all sudsy and lazy together. Kissed each other’s lips raw. She cooked them a gigantic breakfast and force fed her hungry man. They dress up warm, but causal. Jeans and boots and scarves and jumpers paired with overcoats. And then Kylo drove them to this spot.

It wasn’t far from home - only forty minutes or so. It was a different sort of neighbourhood to the one he lived in now. There are far fewer boasting-rich houses that they passed. This place is sprung right in cradled the lap of nature. It’s too stunning and picturesque to be believed.

Yet it must be real-

She can smell and taste the air. Sunshine baked grass and evergreen trees. Cold January winter sun thaws away the chill. The sky is one long satiny stretch of perfect robin egg blue fluffed with very few white clouds. Mites of nature twirl on sun shafts. Bugs hop from the glade, zipping between blades of grass. The birds chatter chirp in the nearby poplars.

Where they’re stood by the parked Aston, is a meadow. A river engraved through it. Big angel oak trees. Fluffy cottonwoods shed specs of white to drift in the barely there wind. It’s so peaceful. Almost too much. She can’t hear cars. Or city traffic. Or neighbours. Or anything- it’s just sunshine and them and the bustle of just plain nature.

Kylo’s stood behind her. He helped her out the car after they drove the dusty gritty gravel track. Opens the door for her. They got out and he let her look all around. Saying nothing.

Just leans on the Astons hood. Tucks her into his coat. Folds it around her sides as she stood in front of him. Her bottom curved into his thighs. His hands in his pockets. Cradling around her in his cologne and body and warmth. Even though she’s wearing her blue Burberry coat and she’s plenty warm enough. He juts his chin to rest on her shoulder. She puts both hands on his and kisses the side of his cheek. All smooth and citrus-balmy where she helped him shave this morning.

He cuddles into her. She quite adores how she’s turned all his razor angles into cuddly softness. It had taken a while. She’d been afraid to reach out and touch him at first. All those months ago. She had no such stupid reservations now. He never flinched or pushed away. His touch starved self only craves her more.

She’s taken a hard core sociopath and turned him into a limpet-like cuddler. Never mind the fact he’s so overprotective now, too. Like a big terror of a guard dog, protective and careful, baying after her safety without making her feel any less. She adores that.

She presses one hand up to cup his hair. Before tucking it in his pocket with him. Feeling over his sore knuckles that she helped re-tape. The swelling was easing. And they were less violet purple. She’d rubbed ointment over every cut of his this morning- pampering him. She’d been very strict in her spoiling, and patching up his roughly treated cuts.

Rubbed sticky-viscous rose hand cream into his callused hands. Put cherry balm on his chapped lips. Helped him condition his messy mane in the shower, face oil on his dried out skin. Looking after his overall state of appearance in general, where he’s been neglecting it of late. He lets her do all of it.

He likes looking the best, and feeling at his best. He’d let her file his goddamn nails and paint them bright pink, if she wanted too.

Because why should looking good and caring after yourself be seen as a purely feminine thing? He knows he’s been lax with the grooming lately. It wasn’t top of his mind when hunting down a nest of rats. His self-care had been a shower to get rid of grime and blood. He barely gave his body or skin a thought, other than a cursory scrub down.

“What do you think?” He seeks. They were sat watching swallows dip and loop in the horizon. Sun sparkling finely off their feathers. The soft natter of birdsong fills the glade. It’s lush. And quiet. Evie wants to curl up with a book here against the curling trunk of the nearest oak tree. She felt like she’d stumbled into J. R. Tolkien’s Hobbiton.

“It’s- breathtaking.” She answers him. Stroking her chilly hands over his in his deep wool pockets.

His fingers tug through hers. His calluses all softened now due to her influence. Lacing and locking their hands together. His breath is hot on her neck as he nuzzles his nose in her hair. Perfume and shampoo tingling his senses all fuzzy warm at the smell of her. He takes deep drags of it off her pillow at night. And it’s never enough. The addictive pull of her fragrance.

They just drink in, in awe, the peace of this place. Even though it was winter and all the green is dull and governed by rain. It’s somehow lush and bright. The river sparkles. The trees with their leaves look like they’re spun out of sheer gold in the sun. Branches hissing and creaking on the light wind. That wind carves around them both. Ruffles hair. Tugs at the loose ends of her gold scarf.

“That’s what I thought too.” Kylo muses softly. Face tipped up to the sun watching a pack of small birds flutter by ahead.

“So quiet out here. Can’t believe how peaceful it is.” Evie tells. Her house was in nature. But not like this. This was bliss and green and wilderness, stretching out for miles for the eye to see. He hums an agreement sort of noise onto her head. Cushioning his cheek there. Against her silky hair.

“This what you wanted to show me?” She seeks.

He smiles lightly. Secretive and plotting. In the nicest of ways. “Yes.”

“Why’s that?” She asks offhand. Smiling. Not quite prepared for his answer.

“I actually own this plot.” He says.

She frowns. Brow creasing all confused. “But you never buy plots of land for-“ Something dawns on her then. He explains.

“I bought it. For  _us_. For a house.” He says. 

All casual. Just like that. A bombshell of a lovely thing. And he says it all carefree and blasé and just-so-completely-casual.

She unlinked their hands and twists to face him. He’s all tall and towering suave, eyes shining sun. And he’s wearing that tugging curling smirk that looks entirely too proud.

“A house?” She blinks. Mouth barely working. Heart trembling with excitement and adoration.

Smirk curls wider. Eyes shine naughtier.

“Our  _home_.” He corrects. Her tongue turns to fraying wool. She can’t even form an answer. 

He steps to her. Puts a hand on the back of her hip, points over her shoulder to where the river curls. Coils around. Up up near where the track continues.

“All of this could be tidied up. Landscaped. Keep some of the trees for privacy. I like the old oaks. Reminds me of Flo’s. And we could have a guest house in the garden- if you wanted. Vegetable garden. Kitchen garden. Orchard. Fuck.  _Whatever_  kind of garden, or garde _ns_ , you’d like, we can have-“ He then focuses on the flat shore by the river. 

“That’s the spot I’m having surveyed for the foundations. Big, clean build. Less glass but a bit more colonial. Big fancy French kitchen. Big porch. Lots of natural light.” He dreams aloud.

“And every morning when you wake up in our big big,  _huge_ , great bed, right next to me.” He almost moans. Hand tucking to her tummy. Tickling her. Looping through a belt loop on her jeans. She laughs. Clutches atop his big paw. He points to the horizon. All the trees. All that green trees nature cloud and sky. 

“ _That_ , would be our view.” He peers across at her. She’s breathless. 

She’s smiling. And there’s silver-grey tears brimming her eyes.

He continues his pitch in case she isn’t sold on the idea. His big hands covering her hips. The idea he’s been dreaming of for months now. Ever since he bought this land - way way back in summer.

He’s thought long and hard about all this. Looked for a plot. Bought the land. Seized the building regulations for it. She wants to laugh or cry in sheer gut-tingling joy.

“You don’t have to sell your house. I’m adamant about that. I’ve got enough to pay off your mortgage ten times over. We can keep it as a rental. Or just, keep it spare, untouched. I love your place almost as much as you do, I hope you know that. So I won’t push for anything that’ll settle to make you unhappy.” He tells seriously.

“It’s not too far from town. Barely thirty-five minutes on the freeway. You wouldn’t be far from the shop. Or town. Or Flo’s place. I’m not whisking you away to the ends of the earth. Just down the road a way. And we can have all of them here all the time.  _Fuck it._ All of Flo’s family, all of the crazy bunch, over whenever. Christmas. Thanksgiving. Birthdays. Sunday’s. Build a whole trio of guest houses for them all.” 

He doesn’t stop. He’s rambling. He can hear himself selling this to her. And he  _can’t_  slow down. His tongue is too greedy infatuated with his dreams to stop. 

“And we can compromise on whatever you want about the house design. Interior. Decor. A huge classic French kitchen. Or a big claw foot tub for two in the en-suite. I don’t care! As long as you like all of it. I know I’m sleek modern and you’re cosy traditional. But I want both of us built into those walls. I want it to  _feel_  like us. Ours.” He tells. 

“So. I suppose what this all comes down to is.  _uh_ , Do you wanna, live with me? Here?” He asks in a shy hush of a voice. 

Evie turns back and cups his hand. Real fierce. Real tight. His hearts pounding and he’s leant against the hood, worried her tears mean ‘ _no_.’

“I’d live in a  _ditch_ , if it was with you.” She accepts. His smile comes back. Shy and uncertain. Like a little kids. 

“Yeah?” He asks.

She answers him with a hug. Throwing herself in his big arms. Into his chest. Hugging the stuffing out of him. Hands hooked around his neck. Strokes his hair. His warm nape. Her face pressed to his wool coat and his jumper. Peppering his neck and face in kisses. He chuckles and hugs her.

“I don’t deserve all that. It’s just an idea...” He modestly waves off. Tips of his ears even look a little pink.

He was certain she thought too well of him sometimes. She overestimated his capacity for love. An unprotected childhood in an ugly world had beaten all things gentle right out of him. Yet - for her is a calmly tender man shot through with the largeness and stalwart fierceness of her love.

“ _Oh_ , but you do. I’ll take great lengths to keep you reminded that you  _always_  deserve it.” She kisses him. His chin. His cheeks. He enclosed her to his chest and they share a slow smooch. 

She turns back to the incredible view. This one of a kind thing that will be all theirs one day.

“Tell me some more about our home?” She asks. Loves hearing him talk all passionate and long winded.

He said so few words sometimes. She rather wants to hear him explain it all. Just to bask in his angelic voice. His hands take her hips again, where she’s cuddled sideways into his body.

“I thought, we could have a fireplace in our bedroom. Always wanted to try that.” He offers. She beams up at him.

“Lovely and cosy in winter. But I suspect there’s a far shadier  _motive...?_ ” She asks. 

“Of course there is.” He smirks. Her tummy flips and the heat between her thighs pulses when he answers.

“So I can lay you out all flushed and pretty, and naked on a rug, in front of it. And eat you out for hours.” He kisses her neck softly. Her toes curl and her breath hitches.

“And you can’t do that on, say, a bed?”

“Fireplace is way more romantic.” He persuades. Chiding her. She chuckles. Blushing.

“We could have a library room?” She seeks timidly. Looking up at him to gauge an answer.

“We could have ten library rooms if you wanted them.” He tells.

“Just one would be good.” She springs back. She could see it in her minds eye now. A big airy room. Designed by his brilliant mind. Crammed with her books. Comfy settees. A touch of english country elegance to it.

“And you could have a bigger kitchen... Lancanche stove. For all that baking you do.” He tells. Knowing how much she loves her cooking.

Counter space wasn’t exactly rife at her little cottage. He’d give her half the house if she wanted. A kitchen worthy of greats. Ones to rival the finest patisserie chefs in Paris. He’d fill that kitchen of theirs with pans and pots from E. Dehillerin. The famous cookery shop on the Rue Coquillière in Paris.  _Hell_ , he could take her there and buy her everything she so much as smiles at. 

He’s very tempted by the thought of jet-setting her off somewhere soon. Somewhere sunny. Hot.

“That sounds expensive.” She frets for a second about the kitchen. He crooks a brow down at her.

“Of course it will be. I don’t cut corners on anything.” He offers.

“I had noticed that about you.” She smiles coyly. He slips one big hand back into the pocket of her jeans.

“I’d love to see the plans, when you have a minute.” She asks.

_When will she learn that he has all the minutes in the world for her?_

_“_ Sure. I’ve been working on them as my own personal project.” He says. Because he wouldn’t entrust this task to anyone else. It’s intimate to him. 

“Can I..” she starts. Hesitating. “How long have you been planning or thinking about this?”

He pulls her close. Kisses her temple. She can feel his smile. The heat of his breath. All cinnamon spice from the gum he’d chewed in the car. The pack he kept in his drivers side door pocket.

“A while.” He smirks darkly. Keeping his secrets.

He’d been planning on this since he found the plot up for sale. He’d first found out about it when he was in Switzerland. He bought it right then and there down the phone. Not quite knowing why. Instantly, there was something about it he’d liked. He started thinking about another holiday lodge here. And then that thinking too started to shift. Like rocks crumbling in a landslide. It fell and tumbled and snowballed into something more.

Then one day - one nameless day after work. They were both sat in her lounge with the fire on. Her roast chicken casserole bubbling away in the oven. He stopped his work for a second and looked up, over at her. Sat there. Quietly reading. Just turning the page of her book. Tucking hair back behind her ear. And he thought to himself. He wanted that a lot. Them, like this, in their own house.

She was his possible strength in his loving weakness.

It was in a book she’d given him to read. One of the ones she’d given him. Uncannily. Spooky the way her mind worked. She said he’d like it and- he’d loved it. Far from the Madding Crowd. He found himself hankering after what the main character says to the strong woman he loves madly. It sums up what he wants. What Oakes says to Bathsheba;

“ _And at home by the fire, whenever you look up there I shall be— and whenever I look up, there will be you.”_

That feeling of calm domesticity, was his motive behind this plot of land. This house of dreams he’ll fashion out of imagination. Brought into fruition and recaptured in reality by their thoughts melding together. Collaborating to make a house into their own.

After the attack his cold rationality spat at him that he should sell this place. Not hang onto a faded dream that could never become real. He couldn’t quite bring himself to get rid of it. He’s enormously glad he didn’t give into his nasty paranoia.

Because now he’ll have everything he never knew he deserved or wanted.

Evie falls back into him. Stroking his hands. Taking his wrist and turning it to her, checking the time on his brilliantly silver omega that glinted in the sun. “I don’t want to leave. But we’ll be late...” she tells. Their warm dry hands clasped together.

He hugs onto her. The sun warming his neck and back through the wool of his new Canali over coat. The sun seeps into his scalp. He kisses her neck once more to make her shiver, the cold of his pendant on her neck under his big lips tingles, and then he walks her over to the passenger door and opens it.

“What is this mysterious lunch you’re carting me off too?” He frowns down at her.

She raises a brow. “You have your secrets. I’m entitled to keep mine.” She narrows her eyes. Looks smug and cute and proud.

He frowns grumpy and kisses her again. Shutting the door and going around for his own. She snatched one last look at the dreamscape as the car crunches and rolls back down the gravel dust track. The recent rain making it sticky and wet to the road.

They head back home, she talks him through directions. ‘Left. Take a right. Down this one.’

When he cottons on to what she’s planning. The smile that stretched his mouth is so wide it dimples up his cheeks. Creasing them into that big handsome smile. He reaches over and squeezes her hand. He slows and lumbers the car to a stop in the drive. Just behind the big oaks near the front garden. The white washed colonial house. With its porch and rocking chairs were still the same.

Flo and Arthur’s.

He puts the Aston in park. Eyeing her across the car. “I didn’t bring anything.” He frets. Turning up uninvited and without a gift on New Year’s Day.

“Lucky I stowed some bottles of wine and some whiskey in the trunk earlier when you weren’t looking.” She grins. Looking awful proud. He chuckles gently.

They get out the car, fetch the offerings of wine and whiskey, and the apple pies she somehow snuck in too. They carry them up to the porch. Already hearing the din of a loud raucous family in the place. The air was brittle with cold. And Kylo could smell the apple-sweet-cinnamon from the pies she carried. Aswell as the wood from the log fire roaring inside in Flo’s hearth.

Evie knocks on the door. Juggling things. Big giddy grin on her mouth. “You told her I was coming, right?” He asks.

“Of course not.” She grins.

The door is thrown wide and furiously open. Smacking against the house like a Greek fury had stormed it open. Flo opens her eyes from the frown that’s crinkling her face up. The creases and wrinkles vanish. She’s obviously been in the kitchen. Her cheeks are rosy and she’s got her daisy butter yellow apron on.

“Is it ok I bought a guest?” Evie asks with a grin. Kylo’s stood stroking the back of her hip.

“I hope there’s enough for one more.” Kylo smiles.

Flo looks like she wants to kiss the hug them both. To hug the ever-living stuffing til their eyes pop out their sockets. 

 

Her mouth gapes and for the first time ever, Kylo and Evie see their matriarch speechless. She puts her hands on her hips. Shakes her head with glee at them.

“You get your fine butt in here and get those arms around me, young man.” She commands. Kylo does as he’s told.

He stoops in the doorway and gives her a bone crushing hug. Evie smiles at the pair of them. Coming in and shutting the door after them. Keeping out the cold. As soon as Kylo stands upright, he’s swarmed, attacked and inundated by kids.

They scream his name in glee. Come at him like a herd of lions trying to take down a big stocky wildebeest. Minnie, Eddy, Zack, Daisy. They’re all piled on him. Evie puts her pies in the kitchen after Flo clamped her into a vicious hug too. And she see’s May cradling the newest bundle of joy in her arms. Another daughter. Born just two weeks ago. The pink docile little thing wrapped up in her arms just a handful of days old.

“Hey..” Evie smiles softly. Coming over to May and peering down at the sleeping scrunched pink little face. “How’s the newest addition doing?” Evie coos stroking the little baby’s head. They’d settled on Georgia.

“She’s doin fine. Ready for her sleep soon.” May answers. She looks up and chuckles. “I think you may need to go rescue your poor man...”

Evie looks over and sees that Kylo’s been dragged to the couch. Still got his coat on. Sat with all of them crowding him. Minnies already crawling up on his back. Daisy is enthusiastically shoving a toy unicorn in his face. And Zack and Eddy are excitedly explaining something to him. Eddy is using the couch cushion next to kylo as a trampoline.

She laughs. Crosses back over to them. They’re all showing him off all the presents that they got for Xmas.

“I got this unicorn. Her name is Princess Sparkle Bella Butterfly. Do you like Unicorns?”

“Of course. Unicorns are great.” Kylo answers. She was literally shoving the fluffy pink mane up his nose. It’s holographic hooves clopping together as she did.

“Kylo! Kylo! Look I got this for Xmas!” Zack smiles. Showing him the hot wheels set.

“That is awesome.”

“I got a fairy dress for Xmas. I like fairies.” Minnie giggles. Still clambering over his shoulders. Her little arms are hooked around his neck. He smiles.

“Fairies are pretty cool, monkey.” He wiggles his shoulders to make her laugh more. She slides off and he catches her.

“We missed you at Xmas!” Eddy says. “Grandma says you went hunting? Is that true? What did you catch?” He can’t even get a word in edgeways and Zack is leaping on the piles of questions.

“Did you catch a bear?”

“No.”

“A  _fish?”_

“Nope.”

“Lots of fish?” Eddy asks.

“You know. I’m not real big on fishing.” He answers.

“An otter?” Minnie giggles. Now on his lap.

“Why would I catch an otter?” He smiles.

“A  _Gruffalo!_ ” Daisy cries excitedly. 

He had to tread carefully here. “Didn’t see any of those.” He confirms sadly.

Evie nudges her hip on the couch. Perching on the back of it. Watching them all gang around him like he’s there favourite person - he might just be for the way they clamoured after him and his absence from Xmas.

Flo comes over too. Sighing as she sets herself down in the chair. Arthur was out getting some more beers from the garage. The guys were laying the table as the ladies had done all the cooking. They’ve all come through and said hello. Through fetching condiments and napkins from the kitchen.

“Give the man some breathing space, you little terrors.” Flo smiles at them all. Sipping her wine. Evie’s doing the same. Minnie is across both their laps now as Eddy and Zack are showing Kylo the drawings they did for him at Xmas.

“In this one, you’re a superhero lifting a house!” Zack explains.

“In mine, you’re lifting _two_ cars. One in each hand. Like superman.” Eddy explains. Talking over his brother. Shoving crayon scribbles in his face for him to see. Now he’s inundated by Minnie. He finally gets to take off his coat. Evie hands him a cold beer. He puts his arm around her.

“Wow. Two cars? That’s quite a challenge.” He smiles.

“You have a cape too. It’s red!”

“I’ve always wanted a cape.” He smiles. “Annoyed I don’t get to wear one to work.” Flo smiles. 

 

Arthur comes in the back door and they all flock to help him. The whirlwind of questions and awe moves off somewhere else.

Flo chuckles as they all stomp away. “I gave them a packet of jelly beans this morning.” She chuckles. “Perhaps that was a mistake.” She sips her wine cannily.

Evie folds her knees up. And leans into Kylo on the couch. He strokes her hip.

“I’m so glad you’re back sweetie. We were all worried about ya.” Flo says softly. Eyes twinkling at Kylo. Evie holds his hand. Squeezes it tight.

“I’m very happy to be back.” He answers. Peering over at Evie.

“And....I think we might have some more good news....” Kylo looks over at her searchingly. She’s glowing with happiness. Eyes all warm and they’re both cosy and warm by the fireplace opposite.

Flo sits up straight. Eyes looking evil with curiosity.

“How’d you like coming up to visit us when we live nearer Williamsburg.”

Flo’s mouth curves into a grin. “You’re living together?”

“Kylo’s designed us a house.” Evie smiles.

“Excellent. You two deserve that after the last couple months. Kylo. Honey. You can bring me those drawings over for a peek on Thursday.”

He chuckles. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Leaky dang tap again. Squeaky floorboards and a broken light fitting.” She grins in good jest.

“Noon still good?” He smirks.

“I’ll get the whiskey ready.” She winks. Looking mighty proud.

“You are a shameless opportunist.” Evie tells her second grandma.

“Oo. That sounds good. Snappy. Put that on my tombstone, after I go, will ya?” Flo insists. Toasting that thought with a salute of her wineglass.

Flo totters back into the kitchen. Enlists Evie and Kylo to help. She gets his ‘ _insane big arms’_ to carve up the ham. Evie helps serve out the beans and the still warm corn bread. They all sit down to a noisy, messy dinner. Kylo had fretted that there wouldn’t be enough - Flo rolls her eyes. She set out a place for him on that table. Even if he wasn’t here to see it. 

It’s a big job washing up, but Evie rolls up her sleeves to help Arthur. Kylo beings dirty plates to help. And then strangely disappears for a while. When Evie finds him again - his little trio of admirers have all been sent up for baths and pyjamas.

She walks into the lounge and stops short. In the half dark and flickering orange from the fire. Sat on the couch. There’s her big man. And he’s very nervously holding a 14 day old sleeping baby.

She smiles, watching his profile tilted down to look at her. Bouncing her nervously in his hold. Muscles flexing. Hand stitched wool blankets floppy over his arms. She comes quietly to sit down next to him. He almost startled.

She’d never seen Kylo startled. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. He gives her a quick smile. Still nervously jiggling the baby. “She’s asleep.” He whispers.

“I can see that.” She answers. Peering over. Seeing her ruddy pink face all chubby and sleepy. Tiny lashes. A pink teardrop of a nose. Little lips like a baby rosebud just starting to fold open.

“You know you don’t have to keep bouncing her if she’s already asleep.” Evie tells him.

“I don’t?” He frowns.

“No.” She smiles at him knowingly.

“I’ve- I’ve never held a baby before. She’s so tiny.” He says lowly. Not wanting to wake her.

She could read the panic in this honey-black eyes. They looked like blazing discs of chestnut flame in this dim light. She can see him fretting. ‘ _I don’t know what to do. I’m worried I’ll break her.’_

He lets his arms go still. Relaxing down onto his chest. He leans into the cradle of the couch now. Rather than being sat bolt upright. He loosens up a little.

“May gave her to you?” She asks him. Narrowed eyes maybe she was trying to force the loved up couple into broodiness. Such a transparent ploy. She doesn’t mind - it makes her smile.

Kylo is about eight million miles out of his comfort zone. He was really more familiar with murderers than he was with babies. This was uncharted territory.

“Yeah. She had to go get Daisy and Minnie ready for bed.” He says. She nods in understanding.

“You’re clearly a good pillow.” She says.

 

He hums an unsure noise.

Georgia’s little starfish pink hands curl open, she stretches and nuzzles more into Kylo’s jumper. Big cheek squished against his jumper. Dribbling into the wool.

She can see he lapses into panic every time she so much as moves, or breathes too heavy. A thought sails out his mouth.

“Did you ever-“ He trails off. Jumbled her about a little in his arms. Gesturing with her. He was curious.

“Never really thought much about it.” She says. She’d been more geared towards a career than a family. It would be nice one day, she supposed. With the right man to share in it.

“You?” She fires back. He gives one of his looks.

“Pro-creation was not something that... seemed,  _right_ , for a guy like me.” He tells. Evie likes how he carefully carefully carefully reaches out those big fingers and adjusts the little wool cap she’s wearing. Before it threatens to slide off her head. His hands were like the length of her whole body. She looked even tinier in his arms. 

“I think two people can be complete without having babies together.” She says with a smile. He beams back.

“Do they always sleep this much? Or is this one broken? Babies are supposed to cry right?” He worries slightly.

“I think she’s fine. You’re obviously very calming.” She soothes. Kissing his temple. His skin tingles from her lips. He leans in to nuzzle a kiss at her mouth.

Georgia gurgles and squirms in his hand and he starts in fright again.

“Sorry.” He mumbles awkwardly to the baby. Getting used to the warm stocky lumpiness of her in his arms. She smells like pink pink skin. Warm fluffy towels. And talc. This tiny little snoozy bundle.

They quiet down. Even Georgia. The fire cracks. The dishwasher gurgles and growls from the other room. The faint din of bath time happening upstairs with thumping floorboards and sounds of the kids playing.

Evie pipes up into the silence. Stroking his big arm. Hooked onto it. Watching his neck folds all ripple as he peers down.

“I think May just concocted a clever wily excuse to see you with a tiny baby in your arms. And send me ricocheting into broodiness.” Evie says.

Kylo smirks.

“Actually. That was  _me, who did that_.” Flo calls through from the kitchen. Evie sags into him and rolls her eyes laughing. 

“Bugger off you nosy terror!” Evie calls back, laughing.

Kylo’s shushing her down with a deep crinkling frown for Georgia’s sake. Covering her tiny ears with his hand. He’s growing protective of her now, too.

“Bite me, Winslow.” Flo threatens.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thots? 💕
> 
> (Yes. Yes I am trying to kill you all) I hereby decree death by fluff


	49. Late Holidays & Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xmas & Fluff & S E X 💕

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Eggnog. Presents. Home made cookies. Xmas pyjamas. All of it. I’m determined to do it right.” Evie’s smiling to Cally as they pack up for the day. She’s winding up some unruly silky red ribbon from the counter. Tidying up the gift wrap display.

 

It is January the 8th. But this is the night her and Kylo reserved for their Xmas celebration.

 

It’s half an hour to closing time in the shop. And they’re tucking everything away and cleaning up for tomorrow. The shop feels oddly empty without all the Xmas decor bedecking every, _every_ , inch of it. It’s been put in the storage closet to wait out another year.

 

“That sounds so sweet.” Cally explained. Plumping cushions on that chairs by the dimming fire. “And now you guys can get your late Xmas together.” She says happily.

 

Evie’s grinning from ear to ear. Cally is happy to see her boss so elated. Even she so obviously saw that she kept smothering back yawns behind her hand all day. She’d said been up late baking cookies, and preparing the Christmas feast for tonight.

 

“I’ll bring in some cookies tomorrow. I made way too many gingerbread men for just the two of us. Even if Kylo does have a large sweet tooth.” Evie tells. Cally smiles.

 

_Oh_ , cause she’d gone all out.

 

She’d made a gingerbread house, she’s cooking a honey roast ham, and the smallest turkey she could get her hands on - she’d be foisting leftover sandwiches on Kylo for work for about two weeks but she doesn’t care. She hung up more twinkle lights around the front door. In the living room. The kitchen. She left all her Xmas decorations where they were. Twelfth night and all that. And she had a stack of Ella, and Doris day to play.

 

“I’ll sort lunch tomorrow too.” Evie tells her with a wink. “Christmas turkey and Ham sandwiches sound ok?” She asks Cally.

 

“Ugh. You know working here is such a complete chore.” She answers sarcastically with a fake moan. Cally turns off the lights in the window and goes to grab her coat from the staff room.

 

Evie chuckles at her colleague. Calls through the door to her. “Must be torture. Such hellish working conditions.”

 

Cally calls back. Voice muffled through the door. “Yeah. I’m setting up a one-man-union and going on strike.”

 

That makes her smile. She stretches out her arms. Massages her lower back where she’s been sat behind the till counter checking sales for the past hour. It was a bleak drab January Thursday. Rotten cold. Miserable and grey weather. But she’s hopping with joy for tonight. Nothing will get her down.

 

All she has to do now is lock up, and go home, light the fires and shove her pre-prepared food in the oven for them.

 

Evie collects a stack of kids books from in front of her and rounds the counter to re-stock one of the displays. She crouches and arranges the books. Part of her fun ‘new year, new me’ themed display. Only she’s put a witty spin on it. Instead of depressingly dry self help books. She opted for fun, quirky biopics about inspiring people and real life stories of hardship and triumph. All centred around books that celebrate body positivity and being happy with yourself exactly as is.

 

She’s just sticking a hardback of ‘Have your cake and be fabulous too’ in the display. When the door bell tinkled behind her. Footsteps thudding in. Wood door creaking open. Evie loves that creaking sound. It meant that another beloved customer was walking through the door to come into her little shop. Stepping into the little piece of her body and soul where she loves to work day-in-day-out.

 

She’s only sorry she’s crouched with her back to the door. In her red sweater dress and tights and tan boots. Pendant on her neck like the silvery token of love that it absolutely was. She had it cleaned after the attack. Kylo’s eyes had looked suspiciously moist when he saw her wearing it - wearing it even to bed and in the shower - while he’d been gone. Never giving up hope. Wearing it as she was now, here, looking silly, with her head stuck almost under the shelf as she’s on her knees on the cold tiles. She speaks without looking back. If she does, she’d conk her head on the wood.

 

“I’m afraid we’re closed for tonight.” She calls apologetically. Feeling eyes on her. Footsteps thud closer. “Open again tomorrow at 9am.”

 

“Pity.” Comes a deep drawl. She smiles. Shuts her eyes and just beams a big grin. Laughing at the fact that yes, she could always feel when those honey-black eyes were on her skin. Most likely settling on clocking her ass the way she’s crouched down like this. All curves and elegant rounded lines under that dress.

 

“Truly a great shame.” He clicks his tongue “I was looking for a recommendation. Looks like I’ll be going home empty handed and sad tonight.” He flirts. He’s flirty and playful today. Nice to see his mood is matched jovial to hers.

 

“Hey, watch it there, mister. I have a boyfriend.” She warns sarccily. Putting the last book back. Listens to them scratch and clunk on the shelf.

 

He’s smiling. She can hear it. “Oh, yeah?” He challenges.

 

She presses a hand to the cold floor to push herself up. Big leather gloved fingers come into her vision, in assistance. She smiles and grabs the offered palm. He admits he’s a complete and utter fiend as he watches those thighs and hips of hers jiggle under her cable sweater dress as she rises up to stand.

 

“He good to you? Tell me he don’t treat you right and I’ll be _forced_ to do something about it.” He smiles.

 

“I could gladly take a pretty girl like you off his lucky hands.” He plays along. She gasps. Pretending to be affronted.

 

She dusts off her thighs - from nothing, just to tease, and then twists to face him. He made it so his hand doesn’t let her go. Rather instead, it slinks, leather rasping wool, across the soft muscle of her lower back. Tugs her into that mile-wide chest.

 

His big nice wool overcoat is buttoned over his suit. Collar up. And he’s got his butter soft leather gloves on. Dark suit. Shining dress shoes. Her tummy swoops and flips as he gets her close. God, how it always does - makes her go bubbly - whenever he’s near. Softly shining eyes reflecting twinkle lights like discs of stars down at her. Hair all ruffled from the wind. Cheeks rosy.

 

Smile making butterflies in her kick to fluttery life.

 

“ _Ohh_. I don’t know.” She smiles. Looping her arms over his neck. His insane big thighs tense where she strings herself up into him. His hands curve over her shapely hips.

 

“My boyfriend is very protective of me. He’s six foot three. And gorgeous. Built like a fridge. And he’ll absolutely kick your ass if you so much as touch me.” She smiles all cute and pretty and teasing. Arching into him. She kisses the tip of his red cold nose to warm him up.

 

“I’d risk a beating for a woman like you.” He winks. She shuts him up with a creased smile of a kiss before they enduce Cally to start make barfing sounds from the cloakroom.

 

His lips are cold. And his ears are cold. All chilled from the wind and the frost. She’s warm as toast and he nuzzles into her neck. Snorting shuffling sounds into her hair. Trying to warm up. She tingles from it

 

“Uh-You’re-so-warm. C’mere.” He gruffs against her neck. Tugging her little body closer. Usually he’s the one that’s the furnace. But she’s been in this cosy warm shop and he’s been back and forth on site all day. Not having time to heat up in his car from endless going back-and-fucking-forth.

 

Ulterior motive being to hug her too of course. He never needs one to have her in his arms. She smells like vanilla and honey and D&G and he can get giddy off it. Palming her fleshy ass and thighs through her tights like the bad man he is. He likes this sweater dress on her. It’s a scoop neck. Got a little belt cinched at her waist. A little modest slit up one thigh. _Tight_. Clings to her body. Just risqué enough to make him eye it up like he’s hungry.

 

He’s been keeping her at an arms length still. No sex. Not since he came back. He hugs her. Kisses her. But they haven’t been intimate since before the attack. He had it engraved in his head that he’d somehow hurt her if they did.

 

She needs this time to heal. He has to leave her to heal up properly. It’s taken an ungodly amount of willpower when hungry kisses between them turn to more.

 

He’s had to wake up early some days and sneak away to stroke himself off in the shower more times than he can count. Waking up with a rosy slick cock. Leaking all over the fucking place. Rammed into her ass where he spoons her in the night. Precome smearing pearly wet against her thighs.

 

He gets into that self-pleasuring pattern in the bathroom. Until icy water pelts down on him, resting in cold static dewy drips on his pale pocked body. By the time he blows another load down the shower drain, the waters ice. But he lets it soothe his feverish skin. Shaking and whimpering and biting his lip so her name doesn’t spill out. He had to bite his free fist once cause he’s a _big_ man and he can’t easily hide how he makes _big_ sounds when he cums.

 

She’s in his head and her names on his lips. In his dreams he’s nose deep in her pussy. Eating her. Fucking her again and again, all over, every where, every way. Til she’s all flushed and sloppy squelching wet. Sobbing for him.

 

He’s longing to fuck her beautiful pussy so hard that she’s weeping and dripping and she cums cums cums all creamy wet and messy on him. He wouldn’t slow down until he’s broken their bed beyond all hope of repair.

 

And when he’s in the shower, thinking about _all_ that, it’s not long before the nails on his free hand are scraping down the slippery grout and tiles because every muscle is straining and desperate as he pumps his slick cock into his hand. Fucking his fist pink raw.

 

To his shame - he’s done it at work too. Middle of the day. Excused himself to his private bathroom and tugged himself off to thoughts of Evie sustaining him. Cum right all over his own chest. It had necessitated changing into a spare suit once or twice. Not having sex makes him realise how hungry his libido is. He’s always had a healthy appetite for sex, and plenty of it on the regular.

 

But he will _not_ pressure her before she’s ready.

 

He feels dirty each time he does it of course. But he _can’t_ hurt her. He will never sink so low as to do that. So. His hand and sorry solo masturbatory fantasies fed by memories will keep his libido - barely - indulged for now. His hand is poor substitute for her. For the bed-breaking sex they used to have.

 

But it’s what he _deserves_ isn’t it? The torment. For allowing her to get hurt. He can’t have a claim to her body now when he’s the reason she got so viciously attacked. He considers it part and parcel of his punishment.

 

That’s why he’s eyeing up her gorgeous body more so than usual. It’s dirty but his mind is reeling from touch starvation. He tries not to stare too openly. Savours her closeness instead. Her warmth and the sweet sweet scent of home that clung to her skin and her sweater. Twined into the wool. Soaked the fragrance into her hair.

 

She strokes her fingers through his mane, curling them through his inky locks. Brushing at his chilly, pink tipped ears. He sniffs and moans in joy. Starting to thaw out.

 

She likes how he’s protective now. Never leaves her home alone unless he can absolutely help it. Drops her off in the morning. Clears his day early to come pick her up from work, too. Installed a new home security system rigged with cameras and the best alarms money could buy. He’s showing protection but he’s not smothering. She knows he’s doing it all to make her feel safe. She also knows she’s no longer in danger. But it’s very much appreciated. Lessened her nightmares by a little. They still haunt her some nights.

 

Kylo doesn’t even break away from hugging her when Cally comes out the break room. Vintage 40’s coat on. Bag strap crossed around her body. Long knitted grey Scarf trapping her long turquoise hair. She’d gone for victory rolls style today. She shuts the door after her and smiles at her loved up boss. Her tattered copy of Wuthering heights in her hand. Her bus book, Evie knows. She offered her a free replacement copy. She kindly refused. But she better than anyone, can understand the sentimental value of old well-worn books.

 

“You two are so barf worthy. You know that? You make me feel hella single.” Cally tells them. Tugging on a bobbled beret as she makes for the door. Her 50’s imitation heels clack on the tiles.

 

Kylo met Cally only just last week. He made up his mind of her very quickly. He’s awful good at reading people - long story short of it, he _adores_ her.

 

He likes that Evie has found someone sweet yet responsible to help her out. Not some lazy town kid who’ll jerk her around just for the weekend job money. Cally is unique. She can be trusted. She’s smart but she doesn’t intimidate or overburden people with it. She’s savvy too. Quick to pick up on things. Her vintage dress sense is wild and colourful and she doesn’t blend into the crowd. She’s got cute cheeks and a big laugh and doesn’t apologise if she takes up space or expresses herself too loudly, or smiles too often. He likes that.

 

Plus, she happens to love books almost as much as his kitten. He didn’t even think that was possible-

 

She’s quirky and curvy and funny. And if Evie loves her - so does he. And as he once said and meant; he’d do _anything_ for the people Evie loves. They get the full benefit of his love and protection by sheer proxy.

 

Evie makes a small apologetic smile at her colleague. Twisting in Kylo’s arms to face her. He keeps his gloved hands linked around her belly. Stood behind her. A hulking black vision.

 

“Sorry.” She winces. But actually not very sorry at all.

 

“Undue distress in the workplace!” Cally points a blaming finger at them both. Kylo grins. Not apologetic either.

 

“What can I say? When you’re in love. You want everyone else to be in love, too.” Evie sighs happily. Cally sticks a finger in her mouth and mimes vomiting.

 

“Cute. But still nauseating, boss. Enjoy your Xmas.”

 

“See ya tomorrow Call.” Kylo grins. Evie puts a hand over his and calls goodbye too.

 

She waves as she tugs on her mittens and steps out the door. Nestling her hat on her long curly-thick blue hair and skipping across the road in the dark to go to the bus stop across the square.

 

“Is that true?” Kylo asks her when they’re alone again. Swaying his hips into her back. Hand stroking her soft belly through her dress. Nose nudging her hair.

 

“What?” Evie asks nicely.

 

“That when you’re in love, you want everyone else to be in love?” He smiles into her head. Lips speaking on her hair. He’s watching her from behind, the slope of her neck as she turns her face. The pretty rose of her cheeks. The way they crease from her smile. The curve of her lashes from her side profile.

 

“It’s true. Or atleast, it’s true for _me_. I want everyone else to be as mushy and as sickeningly-lovey as I feel when I’m with you. All melty and squirmy inside cause you smile at me, like you’re doing right now.” She twists back around and leans into him. Facing him.

 

Clutching his big bulging arm through his coat and suit. All those thick layers and she can still feel the swoon worthy prominence of his gigantic set muscles. She hooks her palm over his shoulder.

 

He’s smiling down at her in that somewhat secretive way of his. “How about you?” She asks. All giddy. Beaming like an idiot - just because he’d walked into the room. That’s an awfully new and exciting feeling for him.

 

He doesn’t really answer her. Which she’s ok with. He quotes for her instead.

 

“What I want?” He answers. Chuckles. Thinks for a moment.

 

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” He smiles into her ear. Breath huffing her hair. She squirms in pleasure.

 

One; at the more than seductive undertone of his words. Second; at the fact that he’s been reading the Pablo Neruda she gave him. She chanced her arm thinking he’d like it. Glad that he did.

 

“Look at you bringing out the Neruda.” She beams.

 

Quite apt, really. Poetry, in all forms, and especially poetry above love, was created and founded on the basis of not being able to express how you truly feel. Poetry reached out in the place where unsure mouths didn’t have the courage, or know how, to produce such heartfelt words. Poetry accentuates love, in her valuable, small, opinion.

 

“Didn’t you know I’m a big huge fucking romantic.” He smiles all smug.

 

She leans up on tiptoes. Kisses him all slow and sweet. Lips tease his so light and gentle. He’s dirty - he sneaks his tongue to slide and tantalise along her lower lip.

 

“Oh, you’re so discreet about it.” She plays along. Pulling away. Ending their smacking wet kiss.

 

Before she brings up and kisses the back of one leather covered hand and slips away to get her coat. Flicking all the lights off. Until the only ones left on, are the twinkle lights she kept surrounding the front window display. His eyes glimmer soft at her in the dark shop.

 

It’s just them. In a half dark- sparkling shop lit by twinkle lights and the pooling hazy glow of street lights from out front. He watches her wrap a scarf around her neck. Tugging on her big blue coat.

 

Criminal. The way she covers up that delicious body. It may be flawed and ugly and lumpy or wobbly in places to her. But it’s beyond perfect to him. Every inch. He doesn’t see her self-deemed defects. He’s only capable of seeing all he loves about it all. He curses inwards all ironic - _maybe he is a big fucking romantic._

She ushers him towards the door. He holds out his hand she she takes it. Walking her over to the door. She opens the door, the soft ping of the bell peels. She shuts the door after them. Locks it up. Kylo reaches up an almighty strong arm and brings down the creaking rattling security gate. He always helps her lift or carry things now. With her scarred stomach the way it is. He knows how wounds and scars can still pinch months afterwards- who knows that pain better than him.

 

He pours her wine. Tells her to put her feet up. He cooks dinner more often for them. He frets. Hell, some mornings he kneels in front of her and does up her boots so she doesn’t have to bend over. She’d never have him pegged as a worrier. But my god- this man could fret when he needed too. He lifts her in and out of the bath for gods sake. She tells him not to worry. But that doesn’t stop him. He stares sternly at her, like a nonplussed schoolteacher.

 

If he hears her wince or whimper cry out in pain. It is a dagger slamming right on through his heart. He’s heard those sounds come from her mouth once. That was enough. He wants to avoid ever again hearing it if possible.

 

He rejoins their hands. Reaches out for her, and she takes his arm. Tucks her hand around his bicep. Huddled into him as they walk to his car. So chilly out tonight. They don’t feel it. They’re all wrapped up. In their coats and in each other and impossibly snug in love. They get in the leathery scented, warm Aston and Kylo zips them straight on home.

 

Trundling through the dark wood along the curved drive to home. The heater blasting warm air. The headlights shining off the bare trees. Sparkling at the frost on the trunks. Sneaking upward from the hard unyielding ground.

 

They get out the car and move quickly away from the cold. Shuddering with the lovely warmth that enveloped the hallway when they shut out the dark behind them. She flips on a switch and the whole house glows to light and life.

 

He smiles as he shrugs out his coat. Because this cosy little house looks like _Christmas_. Feels like it too. They’re fairy lights and baubles and garlands of dried fruits. Of cinnamon and orange studded with dried cranberries and sprigs of holly.

 

She practically skips into the kitchen and clicks on the speaker, and then Doris Day croons to life with ‘Christmas Story’ tinkling loud on the air. Notes and a throaty choir thrumming merry. She snatched a wrapped a fairly flat parcel off the island. Brown paper. Red and white twine. He knows it’s from the heap of presents still piled under her tree. Only now, she’ll find that it’s joined by a great number of different poshly, seamlessly gift wrapped items from him to her. All the Xmas gifts he saved. The ones he couldn’t bear getting rid of.

 

“What’s this?” He seeks as she shoves the parcel in his hands. He weighs it. Narrowing his eyes at her because she’s smiling cute up at him. A plan simmering in her dimmed eyes.

 

“Head upstairs, open it, and find out.” She teases. Ordering him. Kissing his lips.

 

“Remember...” She says between smooches. “It’s a xmas rule.” She warns. Stood there. Stroking his biceps. Making him want to take her, upstairs and do some unwrapping of his own.

 

He looks suspicious. But he does as she bids him. She’s turning on the ovens and sliding their Xmas dinner into the warmed range to set it cooking. She listens to him head on upstairs, wood under his footsteps creak and crack over the soundtrack of Doris crooning from the Kitchen.

 

He sets his work things down by his slotted side of the bed and tears the parcel open. A laugh bred with an exhale falls out his mouth. He begins taking off his suit. Undoing his tie and cuff links.

 

He lays his suit on the bed and takes out the parcels contents. Smiling when he sees how she’s even decorated up here too. Wreath on the bedroom door. Twinkle lights draped around the en-suite doorway. No stone left unturned.

 

He likes that they’re happy again. He hated their time apart. Loathed it as a matter of fact.

 

He showed her last week - the extent of his agonising side of their ordeal.

 

He took her to his lake house after work for the night. Wanted her to breathe some fucking life into the drab damn place. She’d been astounded by the view that’s stale to him. She loved the mid-century design and darkly rich sleek decor that now bored him. They’re cleaning up the kitchen together after he made dinner. She had just said something idle about missing an ornament of hers that she left at his old place.

 

He puts down the dish cloth. Turns and faces her. Grabs her hand. Walked her slowly through the lounge. Down a hallway. Took a key out of the ornamental bowl on the side dresser. Stuck it in the lock in the door. Twists it, and opened the spare bedroom door-

 

There, piled neat, kept safe in boxes on the bed, is _all_ _her_ things from his old place.

 

The books. Toiletries. Blankets. Clothes. Shoes. All the Xmas ornaments she had there ready to put up, but never got the chance. It’s all there.

 

He hadn’t lost any part of it. Of her.

 

She turned to him with moist eyes. “You kept everything?” She sobs. Wails. “And there was me thinking you’d-“ hand over her mouth then. Otherwise she’d spew out cries and chokes.

 

He frowns enigmatically down at her. Pained. Throat bobs a swallow. “I keep the things that matter to me.”

 

He left his entire house behind. His furniture. His decorations that cost thousands. Picked out special by the best interior designer. He left it all. Because her home made funky xmas ornaments meant worlds more to him, more so than any of his material things.

 

She peers back into the darkness of the spare room where all her belongings are being stored. Her hand on the doorframe as she leaned in and looked. All her possessions she thought long gone, all there, heaped up on the big podium of the king sized bed.

 

Something studs into her heart right there. Stood with him. He’s still nervous holding onto her hand there like some clammy shy prom date. Watching her observe the room.

 

She wonders how he could’ve stood this. Sleeping, alone in his room just down the hall, with a room full of her stuff burning a hole in his head like acid when they were apart.

 

Walking past this doorway every morning and night. Knowing what lay within. And she knows that if she didn’t push to reunite them as lovers. Then he would’ve left them as they are. Both heart sore and wrecked and apart.

 

And he still would’ve kept this room under lock and key and littered with the memory of her. His way of keeping her near when he didn’t feel worthy. Of course, he’d have returned the things to her eventually. But whilst everything was still raw and fresh, he’d have held onto those things just to keep the sense of her close by.

 

She just held him. Right where they’re stood, in that doorway for showing her that. Hugs him. Wraps that big body up in her arms - that barely span his ribs - and buried herself in his chest. Feels him grip onto her just a little too tight. She thanks him. Words of thanks and apology babble out her mouth. She presses soft sweet decorations of ‘I love you’ which get muffled into the cashmere wool of his shoulder. He repeats it back. Hand cupping her hair. Looking down at her with big doleful eyes as she attacked his big unlovable body with affection.

 

He re-emerges downstairs. Fully dressed for the occasion. In Xmas pyjamas. A bright poppy red Henley and red and blue tartan plaid lounge bottoms. Simple warm socks on his big feet. He had wondered if the top would burst the stitching when he slid his big thick arms into it. But it holds. Clinging tight across his torso, shoulders and arms.

 

He comes back into the kitchen. And smiles when he sees Evie is wearing a matching set. Matching pyjamas. It makes him smile. Smile so wide, his grin shows off his teeth.

 

She steps across to where he’s in the kitchen doorway. Hearing him laugh. She presses a deep domed glass of wine into his hand. Full of ruby black Merlot. He takes it. Eyes up how her pyjamas look. She’s got fuzzy striped socks on. And he knows in his heart of hearts that she looks ten thousand times cuter.

 

“Something smells incredible, Kitten.” He says.

 

“Gran’s home made sage, onion and sausage meat stuffing.” She grins. Sipping her own wine. Hair knotted on top of her head. Coming across to lead him to the lounge. Where the fires on. And the Xmas films are waiting. Plate of cookies and eggnog ready too. Chilling in the fridge. The one bit of an American Xmas she can’t quite get behind, it isn’t her favourite.

 

“Sausage meat?” He crinkles a frown.

 

“British tradition. Try not to look too scared. It tastes good. I promise.” She persuades. He smiles.

 

She leaves the kitchen with her own glass of red. Goes into the lounge and sinks down onto the couch with him. Collapsing onto the nest of a Xmas quilt and piles of cushions - thats the thing about Evie he’s learnt. She has a stitched quilt for every occasion. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Ones her Gran stitched, or helped her make when she was a little older, and could lend a hand with the needle and thread.

 

He gets her on his lap. Always has to be near. Be touching her. He has to have his big-set thick fingers twined with her frail ones. He must have her under one arm. Or have her hugged tight. He _just has_ too. Otherwise it annoys. It aches and gnaws at him.

 

She’s cuddled to his chest. Eagerly excited and astounded by the mountain of neatly wrapped presents now under the tree. All gift wrapped. All for her. Most likely all ludicrously expensive. _All_ from Kylo.

 

She spots atleast twenty or thirty heaped around her meagre offering for him. She suddenly feels inadequate in her gifts. She hadn’t got the money to buy him endless amounts of fine things like he deserves-

 

She chews her lip all nervous, but excited, looking under the tree. The presents they’d open after dinner. She cuddles up to Kylo. Takes a deep drag of that cologne and the fresh new cotton pyjamas she forced on him. Loves that he wears them. _Of course he fucking does. Anything to keep Kittens smile._

_“_ So what’s first, Kitten?” He asks. Knowing full well she’d have things all lined up ready. She smiles and reaches for the remote. Clicks on the TV. And old black and white credit starts to roll.

 

“Oh. A classic.” She answers with a grin over the rumbling orchestral music of the theme to ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’

 

They snuggle down and watch the film together. She zips in and out to check on dinner. And not too long after, she played them up a traditional English Xmas dinner. Ham and turkey. Big golden roast potatoes. Gravy. Gran’s sausage meat stuffing. Pigs in blankets. Sprouts and honey roast parsnips. She made cranberry sauce for him too. It’s gorgeous and he eats his way through three portions of all the food.

 

They collapse in a blissed out pile on the couch. Stuffed with too much food. Sleepy. Wrapped up like a cosy pile of affectionate limbs. And watch the 1940 ‘Shop Around the Corner’ whilst they let their bellies settle from the rich Xmas feast she cooked for them. He’s flat on his back and she’s cuddled into his side. Heaped together all cosy and sleepy-full from dinner. _  
_

 

The credits for it blare and roll. Echoing out with gusto and finality. Scratchy black and white screen fades. Evie grumbles and sits up. Stretching out her back. Balanced precariously on Kylo’s big pyjama clad hips. Her knees click as she rises off the couch.

 

“Ok. I can’t pretend to be patient any longer.” She smiles enthusiastically. Yanking one of Kylo’s presents out from under the tree. Sitting cross legged opposite his sprawled body. Putting the large brown paper wrapped present in front of him. Right on his thighs.

 

She winces. “It’s nothing _too_ fancy, I’m afraid.” Frowning.

 

Kylo reaches for her cheek. Strokes it. Shifts a lock of hair off the warm rosy apple of her cheek. Chestnut-black eyes fond and kind. “Compared to my every other Xmas, Evie...” He trails off. Letting her infer that she could hand him some roadkill in a box. And it would be an improvement on the holidays he usually spent alone, drunk and in perfect isolation.

 

His usual was no presents at all. Maybe a drunken text from Ben. And that’s all the attention he received

 

As a child, it was misery and penury. Ignoring Xmas except for the light merriments Gran and Mom would get away with. As an adult, it was a time he reserved to be on his own. In his snowed in log cabin in Colorado with a stack of books and a bottle of whiskey. Nothing but roaring fires and the cold mountain elements.

 

He rips open the box and can’t stop smiling at what’s inside. It’s from her and Flo. And it’s a bright red Xmas jumper. Stitched with a green Xmas tree covered in knotted round bobbles made to look like baubles. A yellow star at the top of the tree. It’s not scratchy starchy wool either. It’s soft and yielding. It’s nice. It’s been made with a lot of heart. Kylo takes it out the box, seeing the big swamping red thing could come to his thighs when he puts it on.

 

“Flo’s been working on it solidly since way before September.” Evie smiles. Holding it up against him. “I think she used half the wool in Georgia to make this. I kept telling her you were on the... musclier side.” She smiles. Folding the neck up near his.

 

Really. It’s a hideous piece of misshapen clunky home made knitwear. Nothing to the fine designer cashmere threads he’s used to sporting. And yet. “I love it.” He beams. Leaning forwards to give her a lazy hot kiss. Plush soft lips caressing her own. She blushes right down her neck from his love.

 

“I’ll thank Flo when I next see her, too. Reimburse her for all the wool.” He japes. Folding the jumper back in the box. Keeping it safe.

 

“You next. Open one of mine.” He grins. She turns and selects a small, squat square box.

 

A navy box with satin gold ribbon that felt like the most heavenly silk. She didn’t recognise the name on the box. Floris. It looked too expensive to touch. She felt she was ruining the pretty wrapping merely by opening it.

 

And when she does, a bottle of perfume is nesting divinely cushioned on tissue paper. It’s a flat, wide bottle. With a gold stopper. And when Evie lifts it out the tissue - a fruity floral waft of it tantalises her senses. Ambrosia in a bottle.

 

And the sleek glass filled with gold scent, is engraved with her name. She lifts the top and takes in a deep drag of the divine perfume. Shuts her eyes to savour.

 

“Kylo, it’s beautiful.” She sighs gratefully. Spraying a little on her wrist. The notes danced and warmed and came alive on her skin.

 

“I had it custom tailored to you.” He explains. “I wanted something unique. Hence the name.” He smiles. He had or originally thought that it was too generic - getting his girl perfume for Xmas. And she always smelled damn irresistible. He just figured he could spoil her with a scent that’s all completely her own.

 

“Peonies, juniper, geranium, jasmine and hyacinth.” He explained. All the plants and botanical green florals he knows she loves. The ones that sit cherished in vases dotted all around her house. Cut from her wild garden border outback where she grew the flowers in spring. Always sowing wildflower seeds and waiting to see what grew.

 

He takes the wrist she sprayed it on and sniffs the spot where the scent lay. It was bright. Gorgeous. Floral and dazzling. Makes him smile giddy. Reminded him of her when he tested it out in the store as he was having it made. Custom appointment, enjoying champagne and Charbonnel & Walker truffles as they helped him tailor Evies essence in a bottle.

 

He knew when he smelled that, way back then - that was the one. He wants to find it on her neck when he nuzzles into her in bed at night. Faded but there on her warm salty clean skin. Wants to sniff it, carrying soaked, into her hair where she sprays it on as she’s dressing in the morning. He wants it drowning on the pillows he sleeps on. On the bedsheets. All over him when she is pressed up to him.

 

“Do you like it, honestly?” He asks seriously. Kissing her palm.

 

“I adore it. Thankyou.” She beams. Truly meaning it. “You spoil me too much.” She blushes. Kisses onto his cheek.

 

“Better get used to it. You got plenty more spoiling to come.” He smacks a quick rascally kiss to her jaw.

 

“It’s your go again.” She pipes up. Giving him one just from her this time. He opens it up and it’s a tie pin. Very much like the silver one he saw when they went shopping that time. Engraved too. He’d been looking for one and she hadn’t forgotten. More bottles of his favourite whiskey. An Aqua di Parma travel set and some oatmeal peppermint soap that would smell gorgeous on him. She bought two dark grey, slightly odd glazed coffee mugs from Maggie too. One for him to keep here. And one for work. To go on his desk. His name stamped onto the clay. It’s perfect size too. Not too big and he loves the shape. Adores the heart behind each object he unwraps.

 

The gift swapping goes on. And he does thoroughly spoil her. First edition folios of her favourites. Rare illustrated books that went out of print years ago- he’s somehow managed to source. He also lavished her with a Tiffany & Co. advent calendar. A big turquoise box, little silk bows and red velvet lined doors and drawers. When she opened them, shiny diamonds spill out. Rings, earrings, necklaces, pendant charms, and bracelets. He buys her more Diptyque candles for her bedroom dresser. Velvet peach, the fragrance name was. It was gorgeous.

 

Her whacky dress Guru’s - Cath and Ivy - had sent along a little something for her too. Lavished her with a Dior advent calender. Filled with pots of creams and makeup and perfumes. All in a gorgeously French illustrated box to hold it all together. By the time under the tree is all empty, her lounge is scattered everywhere with boxes and gifts. All presents heaped on the coffee table. Next to the clementine and pine spice candles that are flickering low. Flowing scent into the room.

 

She cleaned up the kitchen much earlier. He insisted on helping. Leftovers piled in the fridge for sandwiches tomorrow. And they snuggle up again in the dark lounge to watch one more Xmas film before they both drift away to sleep in a happy Xmas induced coma. Evie chooses Ron Howard’s ‘The Grinch’ to round off their movie fest. She brings Kylo some of the trifle she made. He looks skeptical at trying the layered English pudding at first. But he practically had the pattern off the plate - and then had seconds.

 

“All we need now is for it to snow.” Kylo mumbles as the silly but classic Xmas film draws to its climax. She hums in agreement. Half lidded, sleepy eyes. Cheek rosy hot and pink from pressing into his ribs where they’re slumped on each other. Legs tangled.

 

“That would be classified as a Xmas miracle.” She smiles. It doesn’t even get truly cold out here. Here, they were more used to thick muggy summers and barely cooling winters. The temperature drops of course. But nothing as severe as some other states.

 

“Maybe next Christmas... in our place.” He jokes. Their house just up the road where the weather wouldn’t be at all different.

 

“I’ll cross my fingers.” Evie smiles. Sitting up before she started getting truly sleepy. She had one last thing to try out tonight. Hopefully it’s pay off. Humming and moaning as she sat up and stretched out. Hair all messy. Too hot from his furnacing cuddle.

 

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed.” She says. Kissing him on the cheek. He stays slumped reclining across the sofa. Big body half spilled off the squashy thing. He watches her go. Pert little butt swaying under her pyjama plaid as she carries used wine glasses to the kitchen.

 

He listens to her move out of sight. Going upstairs to use the bathroom first before he got in there. The floorboards creak above him where her bedroom was. He listens to her potter about.

 

He can’t be without her long. He gives her a five minute head start. Puffs out the candles. Turns the TV off. Leaves only the tree lights on. And shuffled up to bed himself. Flipping off lights as he goes. Listening to the gurgle of the dishwasher and sink echoing in the kitchen. A crying coo of an owl far off in the trees from outside. A calming sound that. He’d always thought so. Hears that calming hoot out here in the woods and it feels serene to him.

 

He comes into her dark bedroom. There’s no lights but the bedside ones casting gold haze up the butter yellow walls. The slither of honey light under the bathroom door indicates where she is. He yanks off his pyjamas. He was sticky hot from the fires heat downstairs. He’s glad for the cooler reprieve of her bed. Collapses back onto her big soft sheets, coldly cushioning him as he flops back diagonal on the bed in his dark grey boxers. The bed frame cracks and springs with his weight.

 

He could really grow to love every Xmas with Evie if they’re all like this. He muses. As he lets his eyes slip shut from staring at her ceiling.

 

She heard the bathroom door sweep gently open. The frame of it rasping against the floorboards. He peeks his eyes open and looks across at her-

 

And he just had to stare at the sight...

 

She’s wearing something all silky satin and lace and actually he classes it that she’s really not wearing but very much at all. It’s that faintest blush pink. The lace hemming the bottom of it, and the triangular cups around her breasts is an off-white. Looks like something straight off a model from the 20’s. Vintage and pretty. And she’s showing so much skin he left hard already merely from seeing her naked thighs.

 

She tucks hair behind her ear, and puts her back to him as she brushes her hair out. He tries not to look but holy shit he’s not that good enough of an incorruptible man to resist. The straps were so thin he could barely see them all pale against the silk of her back. He swallows. He can smell she’s sprayed that new perfume on her shoulders and her neck.

 

Her naked, bare neck and exposed shoulders... maybe the scent had even dropped a little, slipping down her cleavage...

 

He rips himself up, shaking the thought from his head. Rises quick from the bed and stalks to the bathroom. Trying not to look at her too much. He passes her and the plume of perfume that smacks into him makes him swallow back his lust. Bite the inside of his cheek. He scrubs his teeth and splashed cold water across his face. Scours it harshly dry on the towel. Wishing he could apply some freezing cold to cool down his burgeoning stiff hard-on.

 

He flicks off the light and steps back out. Heading for his side of the bed. She turns towards him and smiles. Crossing to join him he leans in for a goodnight kiss. He can’t linger too long. He’ll grab her and ravish her in a way he absolutely shouldn’t. She’s killing him looking like this. Wily. Teasing.

 

He almost breaks when he feels her lithe little hand touch the centre of his big warm chest. She leans up and kisses him. Firm. Cups the back of his neck. Doesn’t let him retreat.

 

His shoulders and back stiffens when she deepens the kiss. He fists a big hand in the back of her slip of a nightdress. Tries to tug them apart. But he just doesn’t have it in him to push her away at all. He takes his mouth out of their steamy kiss.

 

“Evie...” He croaks in a deep whine of caution. Warning her. Bringing up the same tired old point.

 

She feels strong enough to contest him on it now.

 

She doesn’t need to be asking him if he likes what she’s got on. She’s pressed against him. She can _feel_ how much he likes it. Every part of him is tense. Like a gargantuan marble statue.

 

She leans up to kiss him but his stare - tormented and desperately hungry dark deep stare - stops her. His eyes and expression all eaten up with excruciation.

 

“We _can’t_.” He holds firm. In agony. Eyes glittering sorrow.

 

He smooths a hand down her stomach. Palm gliding the pink silk. Cupping over her scar to reiterate his point. His eyes are full up of his hesitation. _‘I’ll hurt you’_

 

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” She whispers.

 

Placing both her hands flat on his pecs. Nipple rings sparking cold at her hot palms. Kissing at his corded neck. Skin hot and fragrant cologne on her lips. His hair tangled into her nose as she sucks kisses up and up up his neck. She started at his shoulder and worked upwards.

 

She’s amazed he complies. He’s double her height and his shoulders are twice her width. Yet he goes where she pushes him. It’s mad. It’s addictively _sexy_.

 

He’s groaning low in his throat. The rolling swelling tug of anticipation swarms at his guts behind his abdomen. His cock twitches and he knows she can feel it pressing right into her so so soft thighs.

 

One hand strokes her hip. The other clenches into a fist by his side.

 

“Kitten.” He gasps. Voice crackling broken out his suddenly dry mouth. He’d shut his eyes cause she’s making him hum with flushing thrashing nerves. Turning him on. She can hear and feel his heartbeat thud her mouth as she nuzzles at him with kisses.

 

“I think I’m strong enough to handle it.” She tucks herself right up against his almost naked body.

 

Savouring the intimate closeness. The weeks of absent intimacy and sex bubbling hot at their skin. They’re both flushed through already. She can taste the clean hot salt of sweat already on him. The manly musk of him and his nearness making her head swim. Flushed skin and cologne. _He’s unequivocally beautiful_.

 

“I know you could. But I don’t know if I can handle it if I hurt you. Even accidentally.” He grunts out. Throat bobbing a swallow.

 

Looking down at her like he was a soul writhing in hell. He’s fully panting now. Arms slithering around her.

 

He’s moving. She’s walking their bodies back to the bed. He lets her. Taking her hips, he tucks the covers down around them and she straddles him. Every move she makes he keeps expecting to see her wince or cry out in pain.

 

She doesn’t. She just reaches for her nightdress and lifts it off over her head.

 

He wets his dry lips again as she gets herself naked and fully in his lap. Silk drips off the bed. Glides away to the floor. Her naked body comes to view. He gulps.

 

_Fuck_. He’s missed this.

 

He’s afraid - too afraid to touch her, so he just looks. She gets his hands and puts them on her skin. Moans at the contact. He’s only touching her waist but it’s _bliss_. Her hands hook to his underwear, trapped beneath her thighs. Shimmies the waist band down. Until she feels his hot thick length curve up, slapping to his stomach. She gently encourages his boxers down and off his legs.

 

Then they’re naked together. And she can see how his rosy wet head is leaking. Pearly and delicious. Flushed purple. So hard he looks like he’s in pain

 

Precome slicked down the long veiny curve of him. She gets closer on her knees. Cups his face and kisses him deep. Burning up. Lips hot against his. Her hard nipples brush his heaving chest. His hands cup her hips. Squeeze her ass. He groans. Trying to hold back from being as rough as he always used too be.

 

He’s squeezing her so tight. She’s worried he’ll snap her spine in half. They’re sheened in sweat. Sticky warm and they’ve barely even begun. She guides one of his big hands down down down. To her soft slippery inner thighs. She gasps in to his mouth in bliss when his fingers brush against her dripping pussy. Forehead pressed to his. Hand hooked the big meaty-boulder of his shoulder. Digging in the big sloping trapezius muscles.

 

“ _Fuck_. Baby. You’re so wet...” He gruffs onto her lips. Saying it like he’s in agony. She guides the back of his knuckles, getting his hand to stroke her in that way she knows he’s capable of. He just slots his fingers right up inside her.

 

He almost purrs against her mouth. Kisses her and kisses her deep. She’s writhing in his lap. Grinding against him. He’s holding her and slowly fingering her. Catching her clit with his thumb. Loving how she drools more right over his fingers. Right down his palm. She’s gasping his name, clutching onto him and riding his hand for more.

 

Her hands are soon fisted in his hair. Their bodies bump together. Sliding and slipping. He smiles. Biting her neck and curling his fingers to hit on that yielding spot thats making her thighs quake. He’s staring at her so intently. Watching her move. Black-gold eyes _so_ fixed on her.

 

“You alright?” He worries. Sucking a kiss to her neck. She whines. Head dropping back when he rolls her clit. Sharp pleasure zinging up her spine.

 

“God. Kylo. Yes. I need you-“ She babbles. “I need you in me, right now. Waited so long.” She sighs.

 

Reaching down to cup him. Teasing his length. Rubbing his balls too. Her hands are so little against him. Every part of him is massively big. His head clunks back to the bedstead. Hips bucking up to her. She watches sweat slide down him. Fingers twitch inside her.

 

“You keep that up, Kitten. I’ll cum before the fun even starts.” He growls. She grabs him right at the base of his hard cock, squeezes, and he chokes out a growling laugh.

 

“ _Fuck_. Get over here.” He grabs her. Gets his cock to hand and shifts her to hover over it. She gets her hands on his pecs. Nails scraping him. Then she slides right down onto him. He’s Huge. So _hot._

 

His dick throbs inside her. And it’s like sliding home again. They both get breathless the way she’s cinched hot and tight and wet. Clamping down around him. They curl their hands together. Moan together. Move together.

 

This is so much fucking hotter to him than any mindless fuck he’s ever had. It feels like she’s sucking his whole body into it. She steals all of him. His heart. His mind. Every nerve. He lets her have it all. It’s so encompassing.

 

He completely shoved all the air out her lungs. Even after all this time. All the months they’ve been having sex and being intimate. It’s no secret - a man his size still takes some getting used to. Her pounding heart is pressing up blood into her face. He studs kisses onto her blistering hot cheeks.

 

“Fuck me.” He drawls out in pleasure in her ear. Crooning like honey. Sagging his face into her perfumed neck. Sucking ugly black bruises on her pretty shoulders. Palm spanning up her back.

 

“ _Oh_ baby. _Fuck_ -me. You feel so good. I fucking forgot how good.” He whines. Cupping her hair. Thrusting right up into her. Nerves clashing. Pleasure spreading through them both. Working himself inside her tightness. Catching on every spot as he moves. He grabs her ass, fingers sinking into her, taking up both palms, and he languidly thrusts real slow. But powerful.

 

She smiles. Clawing at his neck. His hands cup her shoulder blades. Moving herself up and down on his big thick erection. She can feel herself wet soaking dripping down the full long length of him. Gasping for him. Grinding her body on his. Basted in sweat but that doesn’t stop him kissing and worshipping every inch of skin.

 

He tucks both her thighs real close. Wants to feel all of her against him. Graining on him. Her wet cunt sucking him in. Swallowing him up so good he has to grunt into her ear. Dig his big hands into her.

 

“Evie.” He groans. Not believing he ever denied himself this. He’d been fucking his fist instead of this? _More fool him._ He looks at her. Devours her as he takes her hips. She has him. Entirely.

 

He’s moving so deep inside her. So good. So thick. Stretching and tugging on every sex-starved nerve, that she only wants to grind her hips faster. Make it good for him. He’s pressing everything out of her. Bleeding her dry. Tears flow from her eyes. So good it _hurts_. Words come bubbling up her throat like a spilling tirade.

 

“ _Oh._ Kylo I love you.” She cries. “I love you, so much.” She sobs. She can’t help it. He’s in her, lost deep inside. In more ways than one. She grabs at his jaw. Kisses him sloppily. Real messy. Teeth clacking to his.

 

He paws her tits. Rakes his nails over every bit of skin he can reach. It stings. Grip crushing her. She loves it. It swallows her up. Her orgasm teeters. Gathering on that frenzied edge. So does his. It obliterates him. Might have terrified him if it wasn’t _so-fucking-good._

 

He responds the same. Embarrassed to find she’s barely been riding his dick for five minutes, and already he’s ready to cum.

 

“I love you.” He gasps.

 

_God, she’ll ever understand how much._ Ashamed he’s not lasting long like he’s used too. He was good for three or four rounds usually. Today, she’s just plucking his pleasure right on out of him.

 

He grabs at her back. Fingers scrabbling for purchase. Shoves his head in her neck. Writhes with her.

 

Cums with her.

 

“Kitten. Fuck. Gonna cum...” He sucks into her neck. This love, this feeling, is a losing game. They’re not just fucking for thrills anymore. Fucking for the selfish sake of it. They’re _making love_. As sappy as that realisation is.

 

She grips his hair. Her tits bounced into his chest as they fuck to heaven and back. It’s hot. Seedy. Sweaty. _Paradise_.

 

She bounces on him. Grinds her hips in real big unending circles. Til the friction makes her skin burst. Clenches down around him. He spills into her all too easily.

 

_“Fuuucck.”_ He drawls.

 

His cock was jackhammering deep. Body’s locking up but they’re still both moving to release every last shred of pleasure there is to spare. His cock swells and then he cums. Throbbing. Pulsing. She feels every searing gush of it coat right up inside her. Each pump of his hips releases another spurt that sears deep inside her cervix. So thick and forceful it almost felt like another thrust.

 

He cums so hard he can’t _breathe_.

 

Evie sags down onto his big shoulder for support. His sweat on her lips as she gasps for breath and her pussy clenches him. Dripping and gushing for him. He’s not just hit her g-spot. He made tender love to it til she fell to crumbled tender little pieces.

 

He pushes his nose under her jaw. Licks up her sweet sweat and speaks. “You good?” He frets. He’s jelly limbed and his head is not even all there from his orgasm yet. But he’s fretting.

 

She chuckles and strokes his hair - it’s all piecey from sweat. She doesn’t even care. She leans up right on her knees. Kisses him. Wraps his big wracking body in her arms. Both still quaking from pleasure. Trying to catch their respective breaths. Tears drop from astounded eyes.

 

The covers cling to them too tight. Too sticky. And it’s too hot up here now. Muggy.

 

“I’m fine. I’m _so very_ fine.” She moans happily. Panting. Hugging him. Most likely shoving her tits right up in his face. He doesn’t care. He licks drops of sweat off them too. Tongues around the shapes of her hard nipples. She digs her nails into his neck. Watches him with a brow creased up of pleasure.

 

Smiles down at him. All love-sick and lazy. Flushed cheeks and shaded bright eyes. Aching for cool air on her skin. One big paw of his skims up and covers her scar. Feeling heat beat out her skin.

 

He looks like he’s plotting something.

 

And when she flops down on the bed. He’s throwing her spent, heavy legs over his shoulders. Gently tucking right into her. Nuzzling his tongue to swirl patterns up her slick sweaty pink inner thighs. Inhaling her pussy.

 

Prodding his nose to her clit and very pornographically dragging in a smell of her. She smells like raw pussy and the pungent-tangy musk scent of his cum spilling out her oozing walls. Gets him hard and twitching again.

 

He puts his big mitts on her creamy- silky thighs. Smiles into her cleft like him and her cunt and her clit share a dirty secret.  _This right here is his heaven._

 

“Kylo-“ She chides. Grasping at the pillow with dull stiff fingers behind her head.

 

“I have to redeem myself somehow. This seems like a damn good way to start...” He speaks whilst laying firm pressing kisses over her mound. His tongue slides out and strokes up her trembling pussy. Getting a good taste.

 

She yells and grabs his shoulders when his fingers slide inside her again. Pressing out her tight cunt. He likes how his spread fingers are instantly sticky pearly wet with them. This truly _is_ the best damn pussy on the planet. Always so ready to take him.

 

“You got one more in you, Kitten?” He croons. Between the spread V of her weak thighs. Eyes dastardly dark. Evil pitch demonic black. His big tongue laps at her pleasured sore clit.

 

“I think you can take _just_ one more for me...” He hums. Speaking almost as if to himself. Sheathing her pussy in his mouth. She gasps loud. She’s smiling.

 

He’s back in _all_ his ultimate glory. Right where he belongs. Making love to her. Now he’s got a taste for it. He’ll never stop.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you lovely peeps think? Any predictions on where this’ll end up? I’m curious... let me know 💕


	50. Dinner Shows & Foursomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omg 600 comments?! You guys Thats INCREDIBLE honestly so humbled rn that’s just made my year 💫

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
She sinks into the bath with a delighted sigh being pulled from her lungs. The heat stinging at her body is gorgeous. Marvellous even. It warms her cold toes right up in a second.

 

She’s got her scented peach candles flickering low on copper on the tiled lip behind her head. Where there also sits a cup of camomile tea. The radio gently croons something 50’s, and swinging. Peggy Lee, she reckons. The air is muggy wet steam. Perfumed with the body oil Kylo bought her for Xmas. The one that’s the same custom make as her lovely, Floris perfume.

 

Floral green drips on the air. Jasmine, Peony and Juniper. She slips a couple drops in her bath. It quickly makes the whole hot room smell divine. Softening her skin right up in seconds like wet velvet.

 

The heat of the silky oily quality of the bath water rips pink at her skin but she doesn’t mind it - scours away the stresses and aches of her day. Sorting through old dusty books in the rare section. She felt like she’s sneezed approximately ten thousand times today. Eyes rimmed raw where she’s rubbed a knuckle at them too much. Bleary with tears and stinging from dust.

 

She scattered a handful of dried flower petals in too. Floating dotted bobbing in the richly scented waters surface. Sticking to her arms, and her belly. Clinging onto her legs. She sighs in pleasure. Tipping her head back and getting her hair fully wet. Steam rises like smoke from her skin.

 

Her and Kylo are going out to Dinner tonight. Rather, he insisted on taking her out to La Couronne. To treat her. To celebrate. Her bookshop recently had a glowing write up in a local travel magazine. Named it as one of the best book emporiums in the state. The kind reporter who came to talk to her cited is as ‘ _a haven of sheer Capra-esque quality._

 

She almost skipped with joy, right round her shop, when she read the more than complimentary review;

 

‘ _Hemmed into an impossibly quiet and hospitable, twinkle-light-strangled, southern town. Stands a vintage gem of a store, Winslow & Stone books. As charming as it is welcoming. If you want small town enticement, and spades of insightful novels, look no further... this tiny, beating heart of literature Mecca has leagues to offer every hungry bibliophile...’_

She’d had wings on her heels ever since the review went to press. Printing her tiny history as a proud small business owner. Flattering her sense of style and the homey feel of her store. She blushes in pride when she read it. Her and Cally beaming ear-to-ear as they read it. Doing silly girly celebratory squeals and dancing around the counter. Evie framed the article to hang on the wall behind the counter.

 

She’d practically floated home on a high to Kylo. Clutching the magazine to hand (spare copy for him of course) he knew as soon as she bounced through the door all smiling and sunshine pouring gold out the tips of her exuberant fingers, that it had gone well. He kissed her congratulations. Toasted to her success with his plush lips. Bought out a vintage bottle of Bollinger for them too, from the lake house cellar.

 

They drank it quick and greedy. Shared the frothy fizzy tang of it in slow smooches. Bubbles and joy filling their heads.

 

And he’d make a reservation, he grinned. Would take his girl out for a haute cuisine meal to toast some more to her new success. Purred for her to put on a fine dress and some sexy pumps so he could take her out and show her off. His sexy-brilliant little entrepreneur

 

\- by that point she’d had three glasses of Bolly, and was practically high off a heavy petting-making out session with him on the lake house couch. Fire going. Moonlight glowing at them. Bouncing off the still waves like a billion shifting crests of silver pennies. She couldn’t ever refuse him. Not when he wanted to spoil her and celebrate her achievements.

 

She said yes. And tonight was the night. They were out about on the town. The CEO and his Bookshop Girl.

 

The crooning of the radio hums away. She splashed along to its rhythm. Water flicking at the side of the bath. Lapping real gentle. She’s scrubbed her scalp and hair with her jasmine shampoo. Lathered it in creamy thick conditioner. It’s rusty-brown silk pasted spilling to her shoulders now. She’s shaved her legs and lathered all over with rose soap. Skin all chalky clean from it.

 

Taking a moment to sip her frail little saucer and cup of tea. Holding it up, one leg crossed over the other. Toes tapping to Astrid Gilberto Girl From Ipanema. The glow of honey candles still lick up the tiled walls which drip with muggy steam. She knows a great portion of her skin is flushed a violent lobster pink. Tainted along her thighs and belly and cheeks. She’ll need time to cool off as she dries. Wet drips off her lashes, her hair, her shoulders.

 

She was looking forward to their meal tonight. Deservedly nervous about the high class atmosphere they’d be dining in. Worried it was one of those overtly classy restaurants that oozed snobbery snd superiority from every pore of its professional being. She hated reading too much into stares from people who clocked her up and down and deemed her not good enough. She’s getting ready to face a snooty crowd. Hoping she doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb by Kylo’s elegant and casual side.

 

He’d be there, wide and polished and divine in one of his pressed suits. The scar raining down his neck and his black-ice stare, was always sure to make a searing impression anywhere he went. He’s calmly suave no matter what room he walks into. Has that hint of superiority keeping buoyant on his shoulders. _Incontestable_ , is what he was. Seeing him all divine in a handsome black suit was truly a sight of magnificence. Not a wrinkle out of place. Not a speck of lint sullying his clothing.

 

She’d chosen something she hoped matched his five star fashion. A red silk Dolce that he bought for her - just because. It was a high collar neck dress with balloon sleeves, gathered down the front, with a trim waist and flaring skirts. Perfect for colder weather. She’ll wear it with silver pumps and her new Tiffany jewellery. Scoop her hair off her face prettily and keep the makeup minimal and not-to-fussy. Maybe a nice scarlet lipstick to match the silk. Very tastefully Italian, she likes to think.

 

 

She finishes her lukewarm tea. Sets it down and is wringing a sponge over the back of her neck when she hears the sudden slam below of the front door. The force of it rattling up the wood, humming all about in the house.

 

She blinks and sits up. She wasn’t expecting him this early. She hears his voice through the din of radio and sloshing bath water. Deep voice slithers up the stairs, through all the ajar doors standing creaked open between them.

 

“Where are you, Kitten?” Sinful voice seeking succour from the mere sight of her. Fine shoes clatter on the hallway floorboards. Padded on the rugs. Then he starts up her whining wood stairs. Cracking with every heavy tread.

 

She twists around and a gust of new air invading the bathroom pricks at her arms, wet hair, and stiffens her nipples.

 

He strolls in, a big wide vision in black overcoat. Peering down at her. One side of his smirk tugging up. He’s still got his coat and leather driving gloves on. Big dark suit trousers on his massive thighs. He eyes her up as she lounges under the steamy water. His lashes shutter when he gets a good long look at her.

 

She meets his gaze. And it’s all slicing black pupils that burn holes where he looks at her skin. She meekly smiles. Raising out the water slightly. Coral nipples beading off water as she twists around.

 

“I thought you were just picking me up tonight...” She asks sweetly. His grin is fully playful. Sparking up lust in the air with the way his mouth tips.

 

Tonight, Kylo simply _bleeds_ out sex, from every pore.

 

“Maybe I missed you too much.” He answers. Crouching down next to her. Leather hands hooking over the lip of the bath. Water soaking into his coat sleeves. She worries he’ll get sticky body oil on the wool.

 

A big hand spans her jaw. Cups it. Keeps it. Brings her face over so he can kiss her wet lips. Tongue soft on hers. Sucking perfumed water off her mouth.  
  


All she can hear is her heart thudding up her chest and throat and her ears. Alive and wild. That’s how his kisses make her feel. Hands, even when gloved, stun her skin with electricity - the cold hot smooth of icy leather on too hot skin.

 

She can remember thinking how much she wanted to know him from their first kiss. The proper kiss that is. Not the weakening tremble of a shaky confident kiss he pressed sordid and hurried to her neck and jaw, during the infamous Linetti Strangling.

 

Handcuff shackles thrashing cold on her arms. Glamour and alarm behind her. Smell of starched powder on that orange jumpsuit beating like dust off his big body. That kiss was enough to let her know she was being _hunted_.

 

No. Their serious kiss that happened on the first night. On her couch, in her study. When him and Ben came for her all those months back. Once upon a humid midsummer night, long ago. He’d slotted between her thighs like he belonged there, eaten her out to heaven and beyond like no man ever had, and then yanked her in close for a kiss.

 

_Oh, that kiss._

 

He’d tasted briny honey sweet with her orgasm painted upon his lips. His fingertips seared into her hair. Her legs clamped tight around his back. Sweaty slick and heavy. Making her whimper, big tongue stroking hers in hungry comfort.

 

_That_ , was a real kiss.

 

It was an awakening. Of what passion and sex and lust could really be like. Sparking skin-on-skin contact. Skipped breath and ecstasy fogging up her internal organs.

 

Not what her previous experiences of “love” had been at all. Memories she can unfortunately, badly recollect of Jimmys thin, too eager lips, rubbery solid and forceful against her own. Kissing her like it was a lifeless chore he was eager to complete. Mashing their lips together. No musicality at all. No spark.

 

Colourless numb lips moulding unpracticed to hers. Like she was a doll for him to practice on. Tongue jabbing in her mouth like a lolling slobbery slug. That wasn’t passion. It was barely even affection. Sadly, she learnt that out the hard way.

 

She had assumed what they shared was intimate and nice, when all it really had been was an insulting, rushed tumble for climax between bedsheets. His. Not hers. Selfish using needs from a overeager boy. Over quickly and often not enough time to even bring her to the cusp of orgasm. Never mind take her sailing through it.

 

Kylo’s shot the very ugly memories of that moron and his love making style right out the water. Shot it right up to the bloody moon, for heavens sake.

 

A man who makes her soul quake with longing just by smiling at her.

 

The man who can make her gush a dripping orgasm three times in one night, with just two fingers or just with his clever clever talented tongue.

 

Now, he tastes irresistibly like spice cinnamon gum and bursting mint leaf. She can smell the cold air coming off his hair. The faded cologne brushing off his neck.

 

She wants to slide down into her bath. And fizzle away into the oily fragrant water. His hand is her obsidian anchor that keeps her from sinking. He smiles his mouth to hers. Curling up at her tongue. Getting her sighing already. Pulling back rudely early.

 

If she wasn’t flushed before - she’s certainly all rosebud pink and warm mushy now.

 

“I miss you when you’re in the next room.” He tells her in a hush. Huge leather thumb stroking at her jaw. Getting his fine gloves all wet. She’s beaded with oil and water. Lashes dripping all fucking pretty and long at him. Sight for sore eyes.

 

”So do I.” She admits all adorable-cute.

 

He playfully flicks and dips at the bobbing flowers in the water.

 

His glance burns down her body. Eyeing up the sweet stretch of her all naked - _and wet. Wetter than dripping._

 

He had planned on just coming to pick her up when she’s all dressed and ready. His needy libido had other plans. He’d made his mind up the second he saw she was in the bath, for their special occasion tonight. Oil and soap scent sneaking out the air of the bedroom door to tease mercilessly at his senses.

 

His hand leaves her jaw. And he playfully dangles the fingertips of said hand just into the water. Drawing a pattern through it. Swishing it all around. Wetting his gloves. Looking as ripples cascade her body. Disturbing the dried flowers to dunk and flutter. His other hand is pressed flat to the lip of the tub and he leans on it. Watching her body through the silvery milky-cloudy soap of the water.

 

He caresses her. Teases patterns in the water around her skin. Let’s the water lap her body where he is touching nearby. Wicked man.

 

“I’ve been looking forward to tonight all day.” He grins. They both knew he had no patience. Anticipation eating away at him all day long.

 

She’s much the same. Looking forwards to their elegant dinner. But now he’s in there, lingering near her whilst she’s naked - giving her those darkly divine bedroom eyes and she finds he’s starting to make her tremble between her legs. Sex humming burning up feverish with need.

 

Heartbeat pulsing about her pretty little pink pussy cause it knows it _needs him._ That’s what he thinks.

 

“What time is our reservation?” She asks with big shaded eyes and spreading lobster pink flushing right down to her tits. And suspects that wasn’t just from the heat, he flatters himself. She’s all beading wet lashes and pretty _pretty_ rosy smiles and dark navy eyes glowing outwards from an aroused, brightened face.

 

“We got plenty of time, Kitten.” He sighs happily. Suddenly glad he had the foresight to make a late booking.

 

One fingertip reaches over- carving through the water and dipping over the nipple closest to him. Heading downward, over ribs, over belly. Tantalising her body where she sat. Water lapping curling at the edges of the porcelain tub.

 

He doesn’t stop at her pussy. Why would he? That was his goal.

 

He slips down over her shaven mound. Feeling the sweet peachy shape of her cleft. Inner thighs slippery butter-pat soft against his glove that he sinks almost fully under the water to find her clit. Pressing it upward to her body with the swirl of the pad of his thumb.

 

Her thighs shake and brace apart. Her gushing hand lifts out the water and yanks at his clothed arm. Breath hitching at she rips her head to rest back in the bath. He’s looking at her with lidded eyes and a wicked all sex smile. Breaching her tight cunt with two stretching gloved fingers.

 

Thick, hot-cold and silky leather pushes up in her. Blazing from the water. He can feel her scorching. Gloves adding another element of texture and friction that gets her going. Those driving leathers were probably something along the region of $400. And he’s slipping that designer italian calf skin leather into her pussy to finger her. It’s indulgent. It’s just like him, and _his_ level of decadence and nonchalance that towers all above everything else.

 

She moans his name. It’s like his best dream come realised. No ones ever said his name the way she does it. She gasps it. Groans it. Let’s it respectfully drag out her mouth as if it’s hallowed, falling off her tongue in thick honey glad drips. _She sounds like love._

 

Her hand grips the edge of the bath. She lifts her thighs and spreads them up. Feet planted to the bottom of the bath. Her neck stretched back. Skull thudding to the white cradle of it behind her head. She wants to groan out that he’ll ruin his gloves or get his coat wet. The cuff of it is touching the perfumed water. Soaking it up.

 

But then he’s twisting and thrusting his fingers, and she doesn’t care. Hips shallowly thrusting up to meet him. Back arcing. Water rushing off her body. He eyes up the way her nipples peak hard to the cool air.

 

He likes the way he can tweak them to peak harder if he wants too. That sharp ripple of pain blazes pleasure to spur on into even greater pleasure. She’s biting her lip through it all.

 

“I love stuffing this pretty pussy. Been thinking about _this_ all day too. Baby. Getting you cumming all over my hand. I love the smell of your cunt getting on my fingers.” He hums dark. Watching her writhe, thighs jerking.

 

“Knew from the second I did this that you just had to be _mine_.” He states. Smirk curling up. “No one else deserves a pussy this fucking good.” He hums.

 

Her free hand launches, gushing out the water, to grab and fist into his coat shoulder. Uncaring if she’d splattered water all across him. He was changing for dinner anyway. And fuck the coat. What a way to wreck it and buy another.

 

His fingers keep stroking at those sudden urgent spots of patchy pleasure inside her. Jarring her with ecstasy. Wracking up her body making her hips move. The bath waters quivering with the way she moves and trembles. He graduates from two fingers, to three.

 

_Oh_ , he’d love to sip and suck at her clit like he’s drinking from a cup of the most blessed wine in the world. But he’d have to fish her out the water for that. And she’s too pretty all shiny and pink and soapy. Even submerged he swore he could still smell her wet pussy on the air. That sweet private raw and sweat and aroma of girl that makes he swallow back spit he’s so hungry for it - didn’t want to _ruin_ his dinner.

 

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to sit there with the taste of her dried ancient on his chin and the back of his tongue. Lick it off the cracks wrinkled in his lips.

 

He loves how she gushes for him. How her cunt crests in big juicy waves for him. And it’s so blessedly simple to achieve. Curling his fingers at the knuckle, mouth latched onto her clit. Nose jamming in her cleft - and then there’s just this rush of liquid. A big jet of it bursts warm across his lower face. He smiles into the musky damp that drips from his mouth. She usually tries to curse and apologise. He then usually grabs her and flips her over. Sinks his heavy fat cock right into her messy sloppy cunt.

 

“Kylo-“ Now she’s choking his name. Gasping on it. Throat dry. Water slapping vicious now she’s close to cumming. A spot that absolutely _hurts_ with desire.

 

“Cum for me, Kitten.” He pinched and rolls at her clit. Feels her clench and flutter. The wet squelching suck and how she screws up her face in agony and shrieks. He’s hammering her cunt and smiling at how it pulses.

 

An utterly destroyed noise of pleasure crackles out her throat. Pussy snapping down, snatching at his gloved fingers that pump and pump and fuck until she’s soft and relaxed heat around him.

 

She sags back. Unclenched and loose into the water. Melting away. Bliss burning down on her bones and in her guts like a sharp slash of acid. Pooling low in her body. Mouth dry from panting. Body twitching and starting to cool wet where she’s beached and writhed half up out the once scorching water. It’s tepid now. She shivers at the kiss of heat.

 

The bathroom fractures back into technicolour. The soft glow of candles licking light up the ivory-eggshell metro tiles. There’s sweat and perfume and bath water in the air. Wet wool too.

 

She sighs sleepy up at him. Body fuzzy gentle with her release. Still holding his shoulder. He takes his sodden arm out the water. Soaked black heavy-damp up to his elbow almost. To get at the right angle that made her cum. He doesn’t care. Its _more_ than worth it.

 

He leans up. Slams that leather palm to the opposite side of the bath. Caging her in. Face meets hers. Demanding a hungry sucking-sugary cinnamon kiss.  
  
  


She grips his face with wet oily palms. Completely let’s him have it. Slides droplets of water down his cheeks. Spilling warm down his face. Cups over some of his dry silky hair when she takes his neck.

 

She wants to wrap her legs around his hips and get pounded to the mattress in that gorgeous way he does. Headboard slamming. Springs creaking. All the things she associated with him railing her as hard as he possibly can.

 

She wants that insane burst of pain and pleasure moulded together with how he relentlessly fucks her fast. It’s a blur of agony. Flames licking brimstone and powder blue clouds. Of hell and heaven.

 

He growls feral into her lips. Hands slip under her and yank around her bony slippery back and curling at her pink thighs. He stands. Tearing her out the bath. Body and hair pattering back to the water she’s being harshly ejected from.

She yelps. Coiling up in his brute big arms that lift her like she weighs the barest ounce. She points her toes and squeaks a nervous smile. Water following her naked body. Brushing up into the scratchy wool of his chest, his thick coat abrading her skin. Leather sliding creaking squelching in big clenched grips on her wet skin.

 

“ _Kylo!”_ She frets. He storms them through to the bedroom. She’s high up in the safe nest of his arms. Water sloshing everywhere. “ _No! No_ , Your suit! I’ll get everything all _wet_.” She chides. Tries not to lean on him. But they way they’re pressed, makes it an impossible feat.

 

“I fucking hope so.” He chuckles.

 

She’s dumped, deposited somewhat gently on the bed. Tits bouncing. Thighs jiggle. Mattress clunking where it’s shuddered on the frame. Clingy hair and dripping skin sticking to the covers. He’s wrenching off clothes so hard she smiles up at him in longing. Gloves slipped off. Coat disappeared to the graveyard of lost clothes littering the floor - but that’s all he can manage.

 

She can see sticky dark smears of water wetness swiped across his purple-grey shirt. And down his dark black suit trousers. His cheeks shimmer. Light pearls off his forehead and his eyes are gazing flat and intent like a predators. Sucking in all the light. Just pure dark swallowing pits the way he assessed her. There all naked and _so so_ wet for him. Creamy hot between her thighs from her first orgasm already.

 

He can’t wait any longer. Not for this carnality that rips greedy at his burning blood.

 

He’s on her. Crawling all savage and slithery up the bed, slotting naturally between her spread wide sticky legs. He undoes his belt. Metallic crunch of his zipper and then his scorching cock is up against her. The thick, heavy thing that it is. Rubbing hot against her pussy as he strokes it.

 

Parts her petaled heat with his flat wide head. Slicks right through. From head to toe, she’s _sopping_. Burning blazing hot and pretty pink. He shoves his way inside. Feels her creamy cunt drip over him. Slip down his tight heavy balls.

 

Her stomach clenches just the way her cunt does around him. _Perfect_.

 

She’s bent in half, nearly. Folded right back and sighing wordless how his cock punches and pierced her deep. He was still mindful not to lean on her tummy too much. She wonders how his cock manages to go on and on and _on_.

 

“ _Shit_. You’re so damn hot.” He moans. Clamping her hips entirely in his hands. “I love fucking you...” He grunts. Fucking up into her. Stroking deep and quivering the entire bed with each thrust. Headboard smacking at the violet and rose wallpaper-yellow wall.

 

“And, I _fucking_ love you.” He grins. All dark eyes and ravening smile and pleased with his play on words. Plundering her pussy. Wrapping her heart up in his fist and stealing it right away out her chest. She lets him have it.

 

_Hurls her heart to halt his pace... but not._

 

He grips her throat and kisses her filthy. Too much sucking. Too much tongue. He grunts. Groans. She smiles into it. Adores that she can bring this big man down. Make him shudder. Make him gasp. She claws at his shirt to open it. Sneaks her nails down his back. Rakes his skin with her fingernails.

 

“Yeah... _oh-Fuck_ yeah. Scratch me up baby. Dig your nails right into me.” He orders. Thrusting from his hips and curving his back in that delicious way he does. Fucking her like the art form he absolutely makes it into.

 

After their sloppy kiss, she tangled nails through his hair. Keeps him held close. Wants him nearer even when there’s no room to spare. _Loves loves loves_ how they can’t have sex anymore without the ‘ _I Love You’s’_ spilling from both their mouths as his cock is pierced deep deep up inside her. Right where he belongs.

 

She grabs onto his biceps and claws in deep. They both feel how his big chest rubs his dry shirt against her body. Nipple rings catching hard and sleek on her clammy cold skin. She’s prickled through with pimples. The cool air of the bedroom outside the mugginess of the bathroom making her cold. Yet she’s all flushed from their fucking. Glad grateful pleasured noises can’t help but fall out her mouth.

 

He sighs and sucks her into more kisses. Sweating in all his layers. His belt clanging and jangling as he moves. Loving how slippery every part of her is.

 

He sucks the perfumed oil off her nipples. Noses into her sternum. Breath puffing at her pimpled skin. Smelling her balmy floral perfume trembling off her skin in waves. He licks up the taste with a smiling mouth. His groans are honey thick. Making her light up like orange spitfire flame.

 

He fucks hard unrelenting. Until her pussy is squishing and slopping over him. He lightly toys her clit. Wants to fuck her brains out to make her cum instead. Loves the liquid-fire mess of them splashing together.

 

She worships him with her eyes as they gaze at each other. She worships the sculpt of his flushed body all for her, as he fucks. Worships the long fat of his dick each time it strokes deep.

 

She’s whining and clutching the bed cause _fuck_ , this man can wreck her. She warns him she’s close with the way she clenches and grabs things around her. Him. The bed. His hair. His shoulders or biceps.

 

The sting of her nails. That’s how he knows she’s seconds close to cumming. Giving her a load so thick and deep that will put her implant through it’s paces.

 

She’s dripping all over the bed - god, that almost finishes him off. She’s not frantic anymore about the sheets getting soaked. Like she was earlier. Now she’s just laying there, taking him. And giving as good as she’s getting. Groaning and smiling his name.

 

“Love it when you fall apart like this on me baby...” He huffs. Tweaking one nipple hard. Pinching. Heartbeats racing loud fast together. All sweaty and wild and and-

 

He drags her close. Grinds up and fucks deep without barely pulling out and that’s what finishes them off. Him plugging his wide cock right in.

 

She clenches and her pussy pulses and thuds down around him. She grabs his shoulder and yelps his name and _yesyesyes-kyloyes._ He flutters at her g-spot and she pours out for him. He rewards her in return with a great swell of cum pumped in her.

 

Corded muscles. Sweaty neck. Strung tight. The threadbare naked muscle of her,  and his clothes dappled patchy with wet from her skin. He sighs slow as he finishes fucking his full load into her. Hot splashing and scorching her walls deep from within. Groans dying off slowly. Bodies hammering to a stuttering stop.

 

The beds even wetter now. It might even necessitate a change of sheets when they get home tonight.

 

His spine is still racing and he’s so blissed out his eyes blur and he’s fucking dizzy- _No ones ever fucked him dizzy before_.

 

“Fucking hell, Kitten.” He curses. Sighing and arching his big body over her. Resting on his forearms. His cock burrowed inside her some more - still hard. His balls and her cunt still slick where they’re pressed right together.

 

He nuzzles her neck. Bites playful at her kicking pulse. Beating in fury. Humming in content. “Always make me cum so damn hard.” And he can still feel his roiling guts stiff with bliss. Tucked behind his abdomen. His body relates her to the hottest pleasures imaginable.

 

Cunt so good it makes him dopey.

 

She tightens her hands in his hair. Locks legs around him for a gross sweaty slick kiss. Tongues melt and curl together.

 

“I wanna be inside you all the damn time. It’s not fucking sane how much you got me wanting you.” He shuffled the tip of his nose into her. Whispering that heartfelt secret at her. And it’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth - she’s made him a crazy desperate man. He gulps in her affection in tonnes and she’s always more than ready to anoint him with it.

 

She smiles and kisses his cheeks. Perfume oil jasmine and geranium all dried on his skin. His open mouth steams hot against her own. She smooches and smooches him with a smile. Up his cheekbones. Strokes his hair where it’s messed and tumbled over his scalp.

 

“Good thing I’m never going anywhere. So you can always come home to me.” She soothes.

 

“ _Mmm_.” He hums in approval.

 

“Means I can always cum _in_ you too.” He pledges dirty. Sucking a groaning kiss to her lips.

 

She doesn’t tell him off. She just smiles wider. Strokes his lower back. Where his shirts ridden up, her heel rubs against his hot, tatted back. Chafing over a thick knot of a silvery scar.

 

“Don’t we need to get ready?” She sighs. All fucked out and sleepy-happy. Voice light and skipping over his skin like sunshine. He nuzzles his face into her cooling neck. Warming her up.

 

“ _Oh_ , that.” He huffs in an afterthought. Slipping out of her. She squirms when he does. Already feeling his spend drying tight on her skin. He eases the absence by sinking two fingers right in her. Stoppering her up so his spunk doesn’t spill out. He grins down at her.

 

_Take it. Take me._ He thinks.

 

“ _Oh_ Kylo-“ She mewls out. All meek and soft. Pussy nearly pounded raw from their fucking.

 

“You’re gonna sit there all through dinner thinking about this moment. Aren’t you kitten?” He slams deeper.

 

She squeaks out a yes. Blood pushing up hot into her cheeks once more. The slick squish of it so insanely vulgarly loud in the quiet of the bedroom.

 

“And when we get home from our nice dinner out, after a bottle of wine and you sitting there til I can’t take looking at you all pretty in your dress any longer....” He smiles knowingly. Thumb rubbing over her over-stimulated clit.

 

“I’m gonna drive us home way too fast. And eat your pussy out on this bed whilst you’re still in your dress and heels. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you, Kitten?” He drawls.

 

She bites her lip and gasps a smile.

 

“Gonna fall apart for me and let me inside that beautiful cunt again like you always do, right?” He rubs one nipple and sucks the other. Laps it and his eyes sparkle at her.

 

“Right.” She grins. Kissing his scalp. “Better let me get the dress on then.” She beams up at him. He twists his fingers. Makes her flutter.

 

“ _Terror_.” He growls. Kisses her sternum. “Get that cute ass dressed. We leave in an hour.” He growls menacingly.

 

 

 

~

 

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was no secret to Evie why Kylo has chosen La Courrone. She knew instantly why, when he turned the Aston through twin concrete pillars, restaurant name lit up with blue lights, and started them up a long, long winding drive. The restaurant sat at the top was a pure concrete vision 

 

An endless ribbon of dove grey pea shingle stone lining the road surface that curled and coiled around up to the tip of the winding hill, where the mid century concrete and glass restaurant perched high over the night lit gold-distant-firefly-glow of the valley. Night life sparkles off in the distance, like a glass of golden champagne, with how lights blaze in the dark space between the tips of tall sky scrapers and squat buildings. Model scenery from way up here. Up in the luxurious heavens where they could peer down on it like deity’s.

 

The gardens were exquisitely well kept. Manicured grass, huge flowering dogwood trees twined neat with twinkle lights cutting into the gnarled bark. She knew in spring those bulbs would be dead and the white buds on it would herald to life another year. Fluffy white, lacy, like a brides overstuffed wedding dress.

 

Evie has read a recent article about this place. In adage to its three Michelin stars, she’d read about their core value of using ingredients grown here, on the premises in the kitchen gardens. A botanical touch. They pull slowly into the parking lot, seeing it lined with classic examples of boasting richness. Aventadors, Mclarens, Audi R8’s, Porsche’s, Jags. A Bentley or two. Valet parking, of course.

 

It’s a high class place. Kylo can leave the threatening eyes behind. Not needing to tell the valet boys what will happen to them if they so much as dare to scratch his baby.

 

It’s a cold night as they clamber out the trusty Aston. Kylo first handing off the keys, then gets her door and takes her hand as they get out and scurry inside.

 

The wind tears vicious cold at their bodies high up here. They’re in big thick coats over fine clothes. But they make haste to the welcoming doors all the same. Evie didn’t even get to drink in the outer ambience of the place.

 

A sleek angular entrance, all concrete, leads to the big glass foyer of a doorway. A rectangular clear blue lit up pond with floating lilies flanks the double door entrance. Ruthlessly square potted box trees crown the door. And the name proudly cast in silver letters rests in backlit blue up the concrete. This place was a mashing influence of mid-century mod con, and a soviet bunker. It feels cold, but it’s been adorned to look inviting.

 

This place is an odd half breed. A mix between a bond villains lair in the hills. And a 60’s bachelor pad.

 

They breeze through the doors and efficient busboys take their coats. Kylo puts a hand to the small of her back and steps her to the concierge podium. A couple of people are waiting in line - behind velvet ropes like they’re at the movies. Or the opera. Kylo strolls right on past. Evie’s trying not to fidget and look too superior.

 

They come the concierge podium. Where an angular cheeked blonde, with hair like straight honey satin and smoky dark makeup rimming her hazel eyes, is managing to look intimidatingly feminine in a savagely-sharp-shouldered navy suit.

 

Kylo gives his name, and suavely states they had a private reservation - a table for two.

 

His presence alone was a great swell of luxurious intimidation. The ways he’s built. The confidence in his unfaltering steps. The way he walks. Arches his strides. The way he holds his shoulders. He doesn’t swagger with it - he walks with pride and almost too much self assurance. It’s dazzling.

 

Especially under his custom (always custom) Brioni vanquish two piece. Wrapped up in deep sultry raven black fibres, among the most precious fabrics in the world. Tailored to him. He was too phenomenal-a-size to wear off the rack. He has on tonight, under the suit, a perfectly starched stinging ice white shirt under. Undone a little down to his collarbone. Tattoos there abouts peeping out. $200k Patek Phillipe watch on his wrist letting everyone know, he meant danger and he meant _business_.

 

Her completely impeccable smile tugs wide. Nude gloss lips pulling out in a calm beam. A Nordic cadence on her voice. Green statement earrings the same hue as her hazel eyes, quiver when she moves - as if too afraid of her beauty. Evie swore the woman was a Scandinavian model posing as restaurant staff, she’d seen this woman on the cover of vogue for _sure_. Legs for days, like spiders legs in her dark suit, and a waist so tiny she could use a wrist watch as a belt.

 

His drawling words instantly roused attention from her - as he meant it. She caught right onto his name and the weight of his influence. “Mr. Ren, Miss.” She husks politely. Tone luscious and pleased to see them both.

 

“Your table is ready, of course. Would you care to drink at the bar before you dine?” She suggests in a kind purr.

 

Kylo nods. That slight tug smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Why not...” He grins. They were celebrating after all. His hand hasn’t left Evie’s lower back. Feeling the silk of her dress - and the lusty champagne coloured Chanel underwear he knew lurked beneath.

 

The enthralling January-vogue-cover, with her spidery legs and stabbing heels - _so_ tall she was seriously at risk of enduring vertigo, sways limber and chic out from behind the podium, gestures them to follow and leads them across to the bar. Picking stilettos clicking the concrete floor like dainty deers hooves on spindly limbs. Bvlgari plumes in their direction as they tread after her lead.

 

The decor of this place isn’t as snobby or bragging as Evie expected it to be. It seemed to stick to its simplistic brutal nature. And know it’s strengths. Not exceeding them. Dove grey walls of quartzite and floor in cloudy stormy concrete. Dark minimalist navy or black. canvases, frames only some of the walls. And the real colour comes from the square white tables set with mustard gold arm chairs flanking on all sides. Red calla lilies sit fresh as dots of colour, in glass vases, on each table.

 

The restaurant is rammed to the seams. Each table in sight filled. And the bar is packed with people. The rich men and women in fine suits. sipping on bright cocktails and ludicrously expensive wine.

 

The bar too is silver marble. A long running square box of it. The wall behind there is a big honey lit grid socketed in where all the booze bottles are sheltered. The outside of the counter is rimmed with a strip of light hemming where the marble meets floor. Highlighting it. Like butter-yellow lace sewn onto the end of a cotton grey sleeve for embellishment.

 

Femme fatale, Miss-January-Vogue leads them to a vacated spot near the end of the bar. Let’s them get seated on two indigo velvet tall chairs. Wishes them a pleasant evening, with a gentle smile and smoky murmur. In a clack of heels and a sashay of the tiny hips and barstool legs. She leaves them be. A spritz of Bvlgari filling the negative space where she once stood.

 

Evie remarks inwardly in a quiet fit of insecurity, as she hopped up her little stout legs onto the seat, how that woman appeared exactly the type she could picture Kylo belonging with. A willowy woman of such divine, breath-stealing beauty.

 

She had thought before they became more involved, how correct it seemed that he’d end up with some glamazonian goddess. Instead he’d opted for a meek, bespectacled, bun balancing librarian with a chunky cardigan fetish and jiggly thighs, who barely reached five foot three. Barely came up to his sternum in height.

 

She had thought that once - but she doesn’t give that ponder any of the undue attention that derisory beast deserves now. She’s garnered his undying devotion. She’s got his loyalty and his every waking thought. Every smile. _She’s got his love._

And mighty glad of it she is too. She crosses her legs sat opposite him and leans one elbow on the bar. He sits relaxed, adjacent. Feet on the floor still (of course) cause damn his tall legs - he can reach the floor.

 

He’s smiling at the way her Tiffany jewellery glitters cold in the light. Compared to the warmth of her red lipstick smile, her. Her cloudy sky eyes, and her sleek rusty hair she’s tamed back into something pretty. A low bun at the nape of her neck. Braided with a couple of plaits back by her ears. The dress is divine - he knew how it would be. Cutely elegant. Shows off her gorgeous waist and the thighs he loves, press out under that cascading garnet blood silk.

 

He likes when she wears tops that define the ample plunge of her cleavage - of course. But he likes something about her teasing him with not showing off skin. The collar of this silk dress is high, and it pleats over her chest. Over those world class tits he had his head buried in-between not too long ago. Worrying her nipples with his teeth and listening to her gasps. He likes being the only one knowing how they’re primly displayed in sepia beige lace and the finest Chanel lingerie tailoring. She’s wearing wispy beige hold-up stockings too. He’ll have plenty of fun with her in those, later.

 

She leans back into the chair. Blushing at his admiring gaze. Hands nervous with the zip of her Fendi clutch. She’d kept it from the Gala night they went too. He’d buy her more purses and bags if she asked. This season Vuitton or Dior - But she never would.

 

They both know he’s looking at her in a way that will undoubtedly lead them to more sex. Breathless and sweaty in bed - later on.

 

“I can see why this is one of your favourite restaurants from the architecture style alone. Don’t tell me this is your work...” She asks him. Sitting back to get comfy.

 

He smiles. “It’s similar, I give you that.” Dark eyes peer around. After all, ruthless mid century was definitely his way. And she’s right. He does like this place for the ambience aswell as the legendary menu.

 

“I generally use less quartzite on walls. It’s a naturally occurring stone. Not easy to find many shades of it to work with. And it’s hard to climate-control heat in rooms. I don’t use it in designing residences much.”

 

“I think it’s tastefully modern. But it feels too...brutal.” She offers in opinion. He smiles.

 

“Rule it out for our place then?” His smirk tugs.

 

“I’m afraid so. But I don’t mind it on the floors...” She smiles diplomatically.

 

“I’ll make a note of it.” He pledges.

 

An efficient bartender steps over and asks what they’re having. Kylo turns to Evie. “Champagne? We are celebrating after all...” The bartender answers with a quick ‘ _of course, Sir.’_

 

He doesn’t need to see the list. He knows off by heart what he wants. From experience, he knows a place as fine as this will have it.

 

“2 glasses of the 1985, Dom Ruinart.” He tells. The Bartender nods and obeys right away. Evie’s smiling at the sight of him reclined with one elbow balancing on the bar. His watch glimmers silver in the half light. The face of it a bright electric blue.

 

Their drinks are set down in front of them. In elegant thin, angular flutes. Chilled golden champagne fizzing and spitting over their hands as they silently toast a cheers - clinking their glass together. Kylo moves his seat closer to hers. Getting right up close.

 

“Here’s to you. For being brilliant.” He says simply with a smirk before they sip.

 

No flowery, showy words or gilding the lily. Just a neat dynamite shot of affection. She likes that about him.

 

“Couldn’t have been brilliant without your help. I can spare you a little of the credit.” She offers.

 

He almost chuckles. Smile tips up.

 

He leans across kisses her cheek. Just _had_ too. Skims it with a knuckle. Feels at the rosy warm apple of it.

 

The Bartender comes over and slides them a long, rectangular tray of a platter. Six little canapés dotted along it like big jewels crowning the plate.

 

“With compliments from the head chef, Mr. Ren. To go with your champagne.” He nods a polite smile. Pushing the dish to them.

 

At $495 for a glass, and over $900 for the bottle, they were wise to give their best paying customer some appetisers on the house.

 

“This is a seared tuna on cucumber mouse, with a seaweed and samphire powder. Then we have a pressed ham hock terrine, with black garlic and caper berry. And lastly, our Couronne signature canapé, the Provençal chicken tapenade with sun dried tomato. Please do enjoy.”

 

And then the efficient man is leaving them to it. Arms crossed behind his back. Off to shake a martini for an oil mogul or to fetch a newspaper magnate a bottle of Chablis, down the other end of the bar.

 

Kylo accepts, and nods a Thankyou. Before they both reach over and pluck one of the exquisite little explosions of flavour into their mouths. Worked up a good appetite earlier.

 

Evie moans with enjoyment with the tuna canapé. Kylo sucks a smudge of the terrine off his thumb and gives her a dark look as she does. Supernova black eyes sparkled.

 

“And. May I also say, thankyou, in advance, for what I’m assuming will be an absolutely delicious dinner. Judging by the appetisers.” She says. Standing her glass down after taking a taste. It was sour-strong. Sharp and fruity. Delicious. Tingling bubbles and fizz up her nose in the best of ways.

 

Kylo sets his down too. Idly strokes a fingertip along her hand that rested on the Bar-top.

 

“Your palate is certainly in for a treat tonight.” He smugs. La Couronne had the best haute cuisine menu. Constantly updated and constantly kept closely up to perfection with high standards. _His Kitten should have the best of everything._

 

Pretty soon he’s gripping over her entire hand. Holding it in his. They fondle caresses on each other. Fingers folding through each other’s. Just the feel of his hand on her, has her veins sparkling all over. He strokes fondly over Grandma’s charm bracelet that she had sat on her right wrist.

 

Even when he has her dripping diamonds and draped head to toe in designer, she still doesn’t lose the roots of  _who_ she is.

 

She proudly displays her treasured family heirloom. Next to the flawless jewels he gave her. They were precisely matched in value, to her. Gran’s worn tennis bracelet. And Tiffany & Co. 18k diamonds. One in the same. Both because of the love she had for the people who gave them to her.

 

He enjoys holding hands with her - and isn’t that something. The man who could barely stand to admit he had a heart. Twining his thick fingers through her tiny slim ones cause it made him smile to touch her skin. Loving their vast size differences.

 

She made him feel big and for the first time - in a glad good way. Made him like his mile wide shoulders and his stacked chest. Cause she curled into them, those massive crude muscles, and patted and stroked them with love.

 

Made him want to protect her. Keep her safe. To keep her happy.

 

He fought the urge to check for his inside breast pocket. The right one. Where he’d tucked something important earlier. Something he kept to give to her tonight. After their meal. He could feel the bulk of it resting against his shirt. Pressed up against his heartbeat. Right near the place she’s studded in deep. That’s where it’s being kept until the right moment presents itself...

 

“I’ve never been taken to anywhere this fancy on a dinner date before.” Evie smiles. Kylo supposed it must be a date. One of their firsts dinner-dates in fact. Makes him regret not taking her on more, matter of fact.

 

“Good. I like knowing I’m incomparable to that blonde sad-sack ex of yours.” He smarms. Tilting his head.

 

Plucking another appetiser off his fingers and definitely looking superior as he ate it with a rare handsome smile that creased his cheeks. She wants to lay kisses the dimples that wrack his face. She listens to the din around them. Of clinking cocktail glasses, rattle drinks being shaken with ice. The soft Debussy twinkling through the discreet speakers, slithering classical off the concrete walls and floors. She looks at his smile and it drowns out everything else in the room with it’s rare beauty. That _rare rare_ smile.

 

“Darling. You are a whole lot more than just incomparable.” She promises whilst sipping more of the very excellent champagne with a smile as sparkly as the stuff in her glass. He watches her still with that gold-dust smirk.

 

She sets it down and leans in and strokes one cheek of his. Barely cups it. Grazes his recently shaved and balmy moisturised face. Traces of Dior Homme, spicy-sweet and soapy clean on his skin. She nuzzles a sugary kiss onto the opposite cheek to the one she holds. Taking his face. The smooch is like a tiny little dusting of icing sugar.

 

“I think I could like being your darling.” He smiles. Saying it as if an afterthought. Smiling all fond when they pull away.

 

He’s not a one for the huge touches in public. An odd kiss on the cheek. Hand holding. It’s about as far as he’ll go. He doesn’t get her on his lap and shove his tongue down her throat. This is a dignified setting. Not the place to neck it like horny-humping teens.

 

They’ve finished the scrumptious appetisers. Hungry for more. Appetites sufficiently whetted. They drink their Dom and they talk. Couples talk.

 

“ _Mm_.” He remembers. Swallowing down his last canapé with the champagne. “I meant to say earlier...”

 

Evie turns her head and grins at him. They’d both gotten very waylaid with the way he came home in one of his _moods_.

 

“I’ve got the finished plans for the house ready. Put Cally on counter tomorrow and I’ll bring them to the shop so you can see them.”

 

Of course, since she’s learned about his land venture, for their house. He’s insisted they both have full collaborative cooperation in the design of it. Last week she took the afternoon, stuck Cally on counter, and went to his office to talk about features they wanted. Bought him lunch too - loaded deli subs and chips from Franks, and sodas. They worked through ideas for rooms, and features and bedroom sizes.

 

“I can’t wait to see them.” She smiles. Giddy happy.

 

Insanely excited about the opportunity for them to build their home together. Not just for the romantic aspect of it. But she is looking forwards to living in a home that embodies both of them. Her warmth. His clever design. Their shared intimacy making the place lively and comfortable.

 

“I can make corrections. It’s just a drawing at this point.” He says. Finishing off his champagne.

 

“It’s still very exciting.” She beams. Light shattering off her eyes.

 

He agrees. Can’t refuse that smile. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

 

Now he’s smiling like he’s a fool. Like he’s lost his damn brain. Nothing there between his ears but air and cotton wool. Footsteps clatter sharp up behind Kylo. Coming to a stop.

 

“Aww. You two must be fucking again. _Mazel tov.”_

_Speaking of airheads..._

Kylo twists in his seat to see his brother swaggering his annoyingly perky-predatory walk down to step even closer to them. Hands in his navy silk suit Tom Ford pockets. There’s a silver, blood red face, Breitling watch on him. Pointed Ferragamo shoes. Smoky silk-blend-cotton Miu Miu shirt sheening on his broad chest.

 

Kyle scowls at his twin. “Is nowhere sacred?” He asks all grumpy. Ben smirks wider at his grouchiness.

 

Evie nudges his calf with her heeled foot. Before he started growling or baring his teeth, for gods sake.

 

“Hello Ben. It’s been a while... How are you?” She opts for a politely conventional greeting. He eyes between them. Slithery smile sliding on his face.

 

“Like thunder with sunshine.” He remarks to the pair of them. Looking between them. Evie sips her drink. He answers her statement.

 

“I’m Well, Kitten. Sorry to deprive you of my handsome face and gorgeous self. Only I had to help someone go on a hunting trip. Isn’t that right Ky?” He nudged Kylo in the ribs. Poking the sleeping grizzly bear. Kylo’s jaw ticks.

 

Evie swallows. Ben leers at her slight pang of nervousness. Kylo grips her hand.

 

“You’re alone? I don’t see the usual slutty dressed bimbo trailing after you, baying at your heels.” Kylo’s asking with a growl.

 

“What flavour of the month is it tonight?” He adds.

 

Ben narrows his eyes playful at his brother. Smile tips.

 

“Very funny. But actually-“

 

Fate answers for them. Through the thronging crowds someone lanky and tall, foppishly brushing back hair on their head. Is striding hurried across to them. Coming close. Laying a hand on Bens waist from behind. A big, pale, manly hand. With manicured rounded nails. She catches the hint of green wool tweed cuffs.

 

Evie’s brows raise a little - because Ben isn’t _alone_ tonight. And nor he does he have the usual cosmetic playboy mansion bunny blonde trailing - whining and instagramming - in his wake.

 

There’s a man instead. A handsome man. She smiles. She knows who this could be...

  
This is Hux.

 

He turns and is greeted with a kiss on the cheek. A soft growling hum of appreciation from his partner.

 

“Sorry I’m so late love... hysterical client.” He offers, a pinched face in apology.

 

His voice is rich. But not deeply so like the Twins baritone stentorian drawl. This is husky and earnest and _British_. This stranger brings a cold gust of air from outside with him as he moves. Aswell as a fruity cologne. Sweet, like perfume. Lime blossom, crushed bay leaf, bergamot and mandarin.

 

He’s very lean, athletic tall. Red haired. Copper spun fire for hair. Groomed short and neat on his head. A trimmed slight fuzz of auburn stubble on his cheeks. Eyes so bright and clear. Sea foam green. His smile is unassuming yet white-sharp. And he’s got a friendly open demeanour about him that invites warmth and denotes trust. And an odd sort of calm serenity about him that Evie instantly likes-

 

He’s also sporting a wool tweed suit and waistcoat of mossy olive tweed. With Saville Row - or Harrod’s - finest tailored tan brogues. And a pressed white oxford and black tie. English debonair gent in a posh Burberry tweed suit.

 

She’s smiling over at the pair of them. Kylo assesses his Twin and his Boyfriend, with a flicker of his eyes. Civil. But not unkind.

 

Ben steps aside, after pecking Hux back on the lips. And turning so his partner could see his brother and Evie.

 

“Babe. I’d like you to meet my brother, Kylo, and this is his girlfriend. Evie.” He introduces. Arm now locked around Hux’s waist. Stood close to him.

 

Hux is all smiles and joviality. He extends a hand in Kylo’s direction. “It’s a pleasure. Ben’s told me a bit about you.” He offers.

 

Kylo raises an inky brow. Shakes his hand back. “Nice things I hope. He is my worst critic.” He digs at Ben. Who leers again. Chuckles too.

 

He looks to Evie next. Steps to her. Goes for a polite kiss on each cheek. A very European greeting. Kylo feels. Even though he knows this man is gay or Atleast bisexual, his stomach flickers with a little rage watching her get kissed by someone who isn’t him.

 

“He told me about you guys. You’re the writer, if I remember correctly? The one who helped him choose the books...” Hux asks her.

 

Ben rolls his eyes as his partner digs sweetly at his book buying skills.

 

Evie nods. “Yes I am. _Oh_ , It’s so nice to finally meet you. I began to think Ben was making you up.” She grins. Daggering a look across to said twin.

 

“Well. I knew he had to have some assistance, Love. When he gave me the book, he led with ‘ _This is that depressing photographer margaret chick you love so much.’_ ” He smiles.

 

Evie laughs. “I give him credit for trying.” She smiles nicely. Kylo’s grinning at sight of her smile.

 

Hux speaks lowly to her like it’s a secret. “Me too.” He offers.

 

“Babe...” Ben calls his boyfriend back.

 

“We should get to our table. Don’t wanna interrupt the lovebirds’ _special_ night...” Ben shares a look with Kylo. Teasing. And grins. _Knowingly_.

 

Kylo warns him off with a stiff look and icy scowl that makes Evie instantly curious. _What was he so protective and secret about?_

_“Well...._ Why don’t you join us?” Evie asks to Hux, and then looking across to Ben, and then Kylo. Measuring responses. Shrugging lighthearted as she spoke. Her body stance of ‘ _well_ , _what’s the harm...’_

“We wouldn’t want to impose...” Hux begins.

 

“We wouldn’t mind, would we Kylo?” She asks him with a beam. She’s giving off that hopeful hopeful smile that makes his calcified heart bursting beating full with warm-buttery love for her.

 

One thing he’s learnt; Evie loves, _love_.

 

She likes being around it. And in it. Seeing it in other people. And it softens Kylo’s heart that she’s so happy seeing Ben, _at last,_ all settled and loved up with his own, good person.

 

_My god._ How she sways him. Absolutely kneecapping him with the weight of his affection for her. He’d do anything for her. Anything to keep her hopeful and believing that this world is deserving as the bright sunny place she justifies it to be.

 

This annoyingly spoils his planned surprise. But he won’t let Evie down like this.

 

“Of course. Feel free to join us...” Kylo says nicely. Meets Hux and Ben’s gazes.

 

“Are you sure? That’d be lovely.” Hux says. Taking Ben’s hand. Holding it fondly. Kylo calls the bartender and requests to add two settings to their table - it’s taken care of with a nod and an ‘ _Of course, Mr. Ren_.’

 

Almost instantly, sun gold Scandi-giantess comes back over to inform them their table is ready. Evie watches Ben closely when the goddess appears. She looks like a woman Ben would zip right across too, to try and wrangle her into bed. Evie steps down from the stool, clutching onto Kylo’s offered hand as she does. _Watching_.

 

She adores to see how Ben doesn’t even give her a cursory glance over. Time was, he’d flirt up a storm. Only now, he’s too busy holding Hux’s hand. Making moony love-struck eyes at his boyfriend.

 

“What d’you know. I think leopards can change their spots... Here we have concrete proof.” She whispers up to Kylo as she clutches onto his elbow as they walk along.

 

Kylo grunts a smile at her. Cutely kissing her temple.

 

“Long may it last.” He offers back in a hush. Only time will tell if his brother keeps up the healthy loyalty - Kylo actually finds himself hoping that...he... _does_.

 

Hux seemed pleasant. Grounded. Stable. Maybe too trusting in Ben’s goodness, of which Kylo suspects is a ploy. But that, that faith, isn’t the most harmful virtue a person can have. A naïve one maybe-

 

He also found he had a tiny shred of gladness that Ben hadn’t carried on in the traditional vein of bimbo partners. Or else the dumb fuck would end up landing himself in rehab. Or dead off an overdose at a party that just pushed him that bit too far. OD like a rockstar in their own pool. Maybe a good partner will keep his dumb-box-of-rocks-and-hormones twin sane - or even _alive_.

 

This man could literally be the one to save Ben’s life.

 

He never thought he’d live to see the day he feels glad for him. Evie must be rubbing off her Tinkerbell goodness on him, like glittering fairy dust. That’s what he reckons.

 

They come to their round table. He’d reserved private. It was separated from the rest of the restaurant by a black panel frame of glass. Misted with grey paint on the glass. Giving a bit of seclusion from prying eyes on the restaurant floor. But the doorways are open, so noise and ambiance still floods in. Not quiet enough to make it awkward.

 

Kylo pulls out Evie’s chair, even though the waiter would’ve done it. He doesn’t mind.

 

They all sit down to the flawless laid table. Silver cutlery and wine glasses glitter posh in the low moody light. Piano music filters through the room. It’s every bit as chic and organised as it appears. Not too stuffy either. Evie folds her napkin over her lap. Kylo’s on her right. Ben to her left. And Hux opposite. A gilded menu placed before each of them. It’s a set menu tonight. Seven courses. Eight, if counting the wonderful canapés.

 

The sommelier steps in. A crisp suited man with incredibly pointed sharp shoes and a smile that didn’t try not to be condescending.

 

The first course was either wild welsh salmon with pickled daikon and juniper caviar, or roasted veal sweetbread with pil-pil cuttlefish ink. Kylo’s surveying the wine list and choosing accordingly. Checking with Hux and Evie who give much the same answer - any form of wine is agreeably acceptable. 

 

“We’ll have a bottle of 1955 Château Latour. And one of the 2006 Sauzet Chevalier-Montrachet.” He orders. Handing the wine list back. He hadn’t even glanced at it for long. Assured in his choices. He’d been here before. He knew their stores. Utterly in command of the room.

 

The smug sommelier seemed knocked down a peg or two. “O-of course. Sir. It’s just-“

 

Kylo’s arches a questioning brow.

 

“You _do know_ those particular bottles, are around the region of-uh $4,000 _each_. Mr. Ren.” He says all snotty and discerning. Expecting Kylo to be embarrassed. 

 

Kylo tries not to let his jaw tick. His smirk curls. He doesn’t back down when challenged.

 

“And I believe, I said; we’ll _have_ them.” Slowly. With a comfortable smirk. “Thankyou for the clarification.” He adds thinly.

 

His words seems to make the man stammer “ _oh yes. Of course. Mr. Ren. Right away.”_ And flushes bright red. Then kiss-ass snob is taking the list and scrambling out the room real quick.

 

Kylo folds his linen napkin across his lap and kisses the back of Evie’s hand. She blushes at the gentleness of it. When he’d literally just eviscerated a man with the look in his eyes, and a handful of words.

 

She turns to Hux and asks them all real friendly how he and Ben met. Hux flushes red as his hair. Laughing. Ben eyes his boyfriend up like he could eat him alive.

 

“Well. He was a new patient... and he was certainly _not_ what I’d expected.” Hux answers. Still ashamed that he’d let one of his clients take him to bed- well. After he sent his secretary home and they’d fucked ten different ways all over every flat surface in his office.

 

“...and I referred him _immediately_ to another shrink after we met. Didn’t want to break my hippocratic oath.” Hux explains.

 

Ben strokes up Hux’s hand all flirty. “ _Aww_. Not even for me?” He winks.

 

By this point, the wine has come and Kylo’s tasted it, declared it perfect. Hux is sipping on his glass of Latour when he gives his answer.

 

“Definitely not for you.” Hux teases back. “I love my job and it pays the bills well enough.” He adds.

 

“How about you two?” Hux deflects the question back on Kylo and Evie - who nearly chokes ingesting her white wine. She splutters a polite cough and the wine thuds down her gullet.

 

“Well-“ Evie begins. Wiping a clammy hand on her dress.

 

“Safe to say our circumstances weren’t exactly normal, either.” Kylo smirks. Evie leaps out her skin when his foot softly strokes her shin under the table. She blushes beet red again. She bites inside her lip and smiles shyly. Tries not to gasp out.

 

Ben watches the blush creep up her neck.

 

“I met her when she came to interview me.... in prison.” Kylo says. Talking to Hux. But looking at Evie. All savage dark grin and handsome eyes. He flickers back to Hux to his he his reaction.

 

Hux quite rightly startled at that news.

 

“Blimey.” He blurts out. “And here I thought we had the unusual meet-cute, love.” Hux smiles to Ben. Evie laughs at his good nature.

 

“I think I’m rescinding your phrase...” Evie says to Hux. “He’s certainly not what I expected.” She grins.

 

“Aren’t we the lucky ones...” Hux suggests.

 

Evie salutes her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” Her, Ben and Hux clink glasses. Kylo does too. Reluctantly. But he does.

 

The starters arrived and they chit-chatted through them. The wine goes rather quickly - Evie wagered it didn’t even make a drop of difference in the twins big hulking bodies. And she knows Kylo loves the taste of red wine. Likes to savour it. They order more. The sommelier is mysteriously absent for the rest of their meal. Most likely embarrassed a bit insinuating Kylo was brainless, and too cheap for this place.

 

They get onto talking about Christmas. Evie learned Hux was from London - Kensington thankyou very much. He still had a townhouse there and went back regularly to see his mother often. A mummy’s boy if ever there was one. Hated his father. He and Ben had that in common. He had a cat. Played Polo at Cambridge, whilst getting his degree in medical sciences. Post grad in psychiatry at Harvard. Phd in the very same, back at Oxford. Very blue blooded from an old money family of heritage and prominence.

 

All Pearls and scotch, and landed titles, country gentry and Burberry tweed.

 

He had asked Ben to join him in his London trip home. Only it had been _four_ weeks ago- when him and Kylo were otherwise indisposed up near Colorado, on errands best left unsaid. Evie tried not to react too much when he brought it up as to why Ben didn’t accompany him.

 

She chews and swallows her Pigeon - with foie gras and a buckwheat crust and black currant sauce. She reaches for her wine to moisten her suddenly throat. Not knowing why she’s so nervous.

 

Ben pierces a quick look at her over spearing a morsel of his roasted monkfish and bouillabaisse to slide onto his tongue. He chews calmly and swallows.

 

“Mmm. Babe...” He reaches over and soothingly pats Hux’s thigh.

 

“I am sorry I couldn’t make it. I had promised Kylo I’d go hunting with him. Family tradition and all that.” He waves off. Flirting and persuading. Hux lays down his utensils down for a second. Chews and smiles at his boyfriend.

 

“Maybe I could get some time off soon. Near Valentine’s Day?” He smirks. “We could both go. Snuggle up and keep each other warm in all that-cold _cold_ London rain.” He purrs. Smiling.

 

“Babe.” He chided. “Put that smile away here, we have company.” Hux blushes. Ben’s hand was dangerously far up his thigh. They both looked intoxicated on love. Still high off it in those easily days where every touch turns to incredible electric-stunning bliss.

 

‘ _Later.’_ Ben mouths dirtily. Catching his lower lip between a white half moon of sneering teeth. Squeezing at his thigh.

 

Evie smiles and sets down her wine. Looking at Kylo - who rolls his eyes at them for a second. He leans in and whispers.

 

“Were we ever like that?” He seeks. All nauseating and gushy.

 

“I think we still _might_ be.” She wonders with a casual smug. Innocently licking sauce off the corner of her mouth. He doesn’t look like he minds that fact terribly much.

 

He nods to her plate.

 

“How’s the pigeon?” He asks with a smirk. Shifting the conversation to live elsewhere. More and more dishes come and come. They keep on coming. Right through the amazing mains, confit lamb with a mint and truffle reduction. Devon crab and trout roe with tarragon and potato cream.

 

Kylo was right: her tastebuds were in for a treat. Every mouthful was exquisite. Balanced. Perfection. She’s never tasted food like it.

 

She was a proponent for home cooking. Big hearty meals heaped in mountains on plates- but after tonight, she quite understands why so many people adore the world of haute cuisines. After a grilled cod green curry that absolutely knocked her socks off. They move onto the selections of english and French cheese, dessert wines and naughty-fancy French chocolate desserts.

 

She nibbles at some of the fine cheese. Swaps out a sweet for a savoury dessert. Kylo does not-

 

Mr. sweet-tooth shares his chocolate grand cru with black lime and cardamom -offers her big spoonfuls of bites as he sinks a triple espresso. Ben and Hux had some cheese too but now were on brandy. Remy Martin Louis XIII Cognac. Deep domed glasses of the biscuit-golden stuff. She caught a whiff. It smelled nutty-bitter-sweet and divine.

 

When the bill comes - Evie knows better than to intercept. Or Kylo will growl a kiss on her lips about her obligations never to pay for anything so long as he’s around. Hux reaches for his wallet intending to make good too - Ben lays a hand over his. Cutting him off.

 

“My treat.” He smirks. Making a big show of unloading his money clip. A wedge as thick as a doorstop. Clamped hundreds all pressed together.

 

Kylo slips his black-silver Merrill lynch card in too. Determined to pay his half. “Split it 50/50.” He tells. Ben nods in agreement. All this money is just a drop in the ocean to them.

 

Kylo’s taken a share of almost $34 billion for his company this year. Thanks to the Middle East and his rich Swiss backer - he’s dripping, oozing, exuding money. And Evie can have her share in it. He insists on it.

 

“Well. I must Thankyou both, for such an amazing dinner.” Hux says. Looking at Kylo and then his boyfriend sat next to him.

 

Evie smiles across at Kylo. “Thankyou.” She says with pure heartfelt sincerity.

 

“Welcome anytime, babe.” Ben says to Hux. Leans over to kiss at his cheek. Bites his earlobe too with a nibbling kiss - and most likely says something dirty to make Hux flush all pink again.

 

“Good grief...” Kylo grumps to Evie as they stand, chairs scraping the floor, and put their linen napkins down on the table. Heading out for the cloakroom and the valet stand.

 

She takes his arm, loops a hold through it. Strokes it all lovey. They walk back through the restaurant. Kylo lets her rest her head on his arm as they walk. Striding on over to the coat check. Evie kisses his cheek and slips away to the restroom whilst Kylo gets their coats.

 

Hux appears - walking alone. Kylo’s face must’ve said something obvious because it prompted his twins partner to smile. The busboy handed the redhead his big black overcoat to match the check tweed of his suit. He thanks him and shrugs it on, speaking to Kylo.

 

“Ben went to say goodnight to the head chef.” He offers in a grin. Tucking a pair of calfskin gloves in his pocket.

 

Kylo hums in confirmation. “He certainly knows a lot of people. He always was the extrovert among us two.” Kylo answers. Pulling his arms through his own hugging great coat and holding Evie’s for her. The perfume he bought her is living on it, wound around the wool fibres, pluming up gently in the air.

 

Hux agrees. “He is.” He says with a note of _something_ about his tone.

It seemed sad and knowing. Fully invested and distantly heart sore. Kylo seized onto it. This man was too trusting. Too faithful in Ben. And he _knew_ it. He was risking getting hurt in loving the man whose about as principled and monogamous as Don Giovanni.

 

Kylo turns to him. Addressing the elephant in the room that hung on their unsure silence.

 

“Look, You and I aren’t brainless. We both know how he can be...” He pipes up. Hux examines him with something cloudy lingering in his eyes. Something that rose to meet his words with knowledge.

 

He flirts with anything with a pulse. And had probably slept with people enough to stretch from here to the North Pole.

 

“I do know that the bottom line is this; you’re real good for him.” Kylo compliments. “I hope he appreciates that.” He adds in deprecation to his dense slut-bag of a brother.

 

“So do I. Without meaning to sound entirely pretentious-” Hux smiles. He twists his head around to see if he could see his boyfriend.

 

\- Ben had stopped to chat with one of the waitresses. He’s got that flirty smile on and she’s twiddling hair around her finger. His body language isn’t that engaging. He got hands in his pockets. Drawn back a little. But the girls is screaming flirtation at him. Leaning in to touch his arm. Blushing. Laughing at whatever he said.

 

Hux turns back to Kylo and gives him a knowing - nearly pinched - smile. Lips tighten up at the corners. He sighs a little and his straight shoulders fight not to sag down. His dancers strict posture doesn’t allow it.

 

Kylo sees it. He sees _all_ of it.

 

“I believe the technical term coined for my predicament is, _uh_. Sadomasochism.” Hux tells jovially. Batting away his neuroses with the contempt they deserve.

 

Kylo also sees he’s partly serious about his misgivings. He watches Ben with the start of a scowl crowning his brow.

 

Being head-over-heels, heart kickingly mad. Veins racing pumping giddy in love with someone. Knowing full well they could cleave and break your heart in two with one misstep.

 

Kylo’s rescinding his earlier remark of Hux being a fool. He wasn’t. He had just enough rare faith left in him to be a man very much cautiously optimistic in love - only time would tell if it was with the wrong person.

 

“I know keeping up with him can’t be easy.” Kylo admits.

 

Hux nods. “Mmm. It is a challenge...” he admits.

 

“But I think I’m rival to the task for a little while. And he did promise me that he’d make some... _changes,_ to his lifestyle to give us a shot.”

 

Hux looks back at his boyfriend as he adjusts his cuffs. Slips on his gloves. Leather squeaking over his fingers.

 

“Now I just have to wait and see whether or not he makes a fool out of me with that vow.” He says. Wrenching on his other glove.

 

He really hopes Ben is wise enough to come to his senses. Which were buried down deep, deep deep down, under layers and layers of hormones, and whorish proclivity, and self destruction. Hux was a shrink. He could spout out entire dissertations and essays on the psychological side of Ben’s fucked-up nature. He could pinpoint where it stemmed from in his rotten childhood. How it affected him through very active puberty and how it’s cemented him as an adult.

 

That’s what love can _also_ be, Kylo realises right then, stood by this careful redheaded man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Real true love can be terrifying. Handing someone your entire beating, pulsing nerve centre of being, of affection, and devotion. And just praying they don’t abuse it.

 

Luckily, Kylo’s found a much safer vessel to stow his love onto. And right then she’s stepping back across to both men with that polite little smile that he feels chafe heat right up against his backbone.

 

Kylo steps across to her with her coat. Let’s her get her arms in. Slips it up over her shoulders. Hux takes his Burberry cashmere check scarf from the coat check attendant. Loops it over his neck and collar.

 

“Might I add in my thankyou for a truly delicious dinner. And how nice a surprise it was bumping into you guys tonight.” He smiles over at Evie and Kylo.

 

“It was nice to meet you, at last.” Evie steps close to him. Folding him into a demure hug. Hux strokes her back fondly before they pull away.

 

They walk across to and out the door. Coming into the cold air. The pond by the entrances ripples and ruffled on the wind. Lilies on the surface bobbing like little white boats being tossed on a stormy tide.

 

“I must come see that little town and that bookshop of yours, for myself, one day soon.” He smiles. Evie beamed in return.

 

“You are always welcome.” She assures. Ben suddenly comes out the door and appears behind his boyfriend. Smirking and slinging an arm around his waist. Cupping his side.

 

“Thanks for inviting us to gatecrash on your night, Babydoll.” Ben winks at her. Wind flouncing his long raven hair. The obedient valets had fetched their cars and now hands them back their keys. Hux’s ride is an impressive silver F-type Jaguar SVR.

 

Evie tilts her head knowingly at Kylo’s twin. “It was nice to see you too, Ben.”

 

The nefarious twin leers and breaks away from Hux to lean down and place a flirty kiss on her cheek in parting. Goatee rasping scratchy at her skin. Hand entirely too hot on her hip. Even through her coat.

 

“Hope to see you two again soon.” Hux smiles. Kylo nods a smile as his goodbye. Ben flutters his fingers in a silly wave.

 

Before throwing his arm around his partner. Stroking his thigh and saying something horny into his ear - most probably. Sucking, nipping his boyfriends earlobe. Hux breathes out a soft chide of ‘ _Wait until we get home. I have to drive us out of here.’_

 

Kylo sticks out his hand for her. She takes it. Lets him lead her to the Aston. They climb in and wrap up warm in the snug leather seats. She kisses his hand when he can spare it - to help keep him warm. He smiles as the tyres crunch and splatter over the crackling pea shingle as they wind down the ribbon road, off the hill, back to home. Hers tonight. He didn’t care to drive back to the lake house at this hour.

 

And he did have something on his mind... Evie inviting Hux and Ben to join them at dinner had thrown a wrench in his works somewhat. In odes to the secret nestled in his pocket.

 

They listen to some song on the radio. A husky soulful male voice singing about taking chances in love. Evie’s so full and dozy happy with wine and food, she feels like kicking off her heels and curling up asleep on this car seat. The smell of Kylo’s cologne, cold leather and that Wrigley’s cinnamon gum he’s chewing sweetly spicing up the air. It’s happy. And it’s just the sound of the road beneath as they’re making their way homeward. It’s quietly intimate.

 

She must’ve dozed a little because she sits up when she feels the car lurch onto the familiar turn into the woods. She opens her sleepy eyes and stretches out her back.

 

The car is all steamed hot heat where he cranked it up to warm his hands on the steering wheel. The lights cut a brilliant ice swathe through the dark dead grey woods. Foilage and dry leaves churned up to mush with the recent rain.

 

He parks up. They get out and head quickly for the porch. Air puffing silver out their mouths in the cool of night. She reaches into her Fendi for for her key. He plucks her hand out from behind before she can reach. Twirls her around so she’s facing his big chest. He takes her hand and strokes it. Swallowing. Throat ticks.

 

He looks nervous - best way to do this. He just blurts it out. Here. On her barely lit porch, in the frigid night air.

 

“There’s, um. Something I need to tell you-well _ask_ you, actually.” He strokes one of her knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

 

Evie focuses her eyes completely on his face. His honey-charcoal gaze meets hers at last. Hesitating.

 

“I’ve got to go to Italy in two weeks. For about a month... Milan then on down to Florence.” He tells

 

Her heart sinks at the thought of all that time apart. It’s not even here yet and she’s already hating the thought that it’s looking.

 

“I’m really going to miss you like crazy...” She says after she’s digested the news,  with a heart-torn face. It was a work trip. He wouldn’t want her tagging along like an annoying spare part. Her brow’s all crimped. Eyes all watery-silver. It stabs through his rotten heart to see her hurt.

 

He frowns at her. Reaches for his inside jacket pocket.

 

“ _Kitten_. You’re coming with me.” He tells her.

 

Then that big tatted hand is bringing out a thin long-narrow envelope from his pocket. He hands it across to her.

 

She opens it with cold numb fingers. Trembling. Face an absolute picture. He smiles down at her as she plucks the pair of plane tickets out of the folded paper. There it was. In black and white. Two plane tickets to Italy. Private flight.

 

“Are you serious?” She frets.   
  


“I don’t do jokes.” He assures.

 

“I-I think I may need to buy some suitcases...” She smiles. The tickets get crushed between them as she slips up on tiptoes. Cups his neck and plants a firm kiss on his lips.

 

“I’ll buy you luggage. Dresses. Sunglasses. Swimsuits. Whatever the fuck you need. I’ll get it. Don’t even worry. Pack some of those travel books of yours baby. We got a plane to catch....” He grins. Hoisting her up. Holding the backs of her knees. Gripping her little body into a hug. Clothes rustle together  shoes crackle on the wood porch.  
  


He heaves her in his arms like it’s effortless. Cups her ass. Bends her knees up over his hips. Her hands grip his neck.

  
  
“And you’re sure you don’t mind me coming? Even if you’re working. I promise I won’t get in the way...” She sighs all grateful. Kissing his cheeks. His nose. His forehead. Anything she can reach. Her hands socketed in his swirling long hair.

 

“Mind?” He asks with a grin. Sloppy kiss up into her mouth. Tongue tickling her lower lip.

 

“No. I don’t fucking mind. Get to see this gorgeous ass in bikini? You kiddin me? I’d go tomorrow If I could.” He pledges all dirty. Eyes sparkling naughty. His hands squeeze her ass where he’s holding her.

 

He could see it now. Picture it. Water diamond blue pool. Evie in a cute blue two piece. With bows he could undo. Too much sunshine. Church bells. Noisy graffiti smeared Italian marble cities. Terracotta buildings and loud, rowdy Italians bursting with their full throated language all around. Shrieking mopeds. Sun on his skin - proper fucking European continental holiday sun.

 

The taste of garlic, sweet tomato, the sharp burst of basilica, and velvet thick Italian red wine on his tongue. Sharing lipstick tasting kisses with Evie as they wander around some sunny, rust red Tuscan countryside town, hand in hand.

 

“Can’t go leaving my best girl behind...” He drawls. Pressing his nose and lips into her neck. She smiles all giddy. Veins racing with excitement.

 

“I can’t _wait_.” She mumbles into their kiss. Speaking into his mouth. Sharing breath. Licking teeth. It’s dirty gross and hot but it’s _their_ dirty kind of gross.

 

“You’re taking me to Italy.” She sighs all happy. Unable to believe it. “To Tuscany.” She sighs. So in love.

 

Because he once sat opposite her as a prisoner as she’d moped about wanting to go. Not having the means to fulfil a bucket list dream. Who’d ever have thought they’d come to this? The honeymooning love-birds.

 

He certainly didn’t see this, or her, coming- _that’s for damn sure..._

_“_ Too right I fucking am.” He growls with a smirk. “Now lets get those expensive panties off. I think this pussy of mine needs me.” He flirts. Sucking her neck. Biting around her earrings. Worrying the hem of her stocking on her thigh.

 

She holds his hair. Sighs in bliss. So full clutching at him. Tugging him closer. She’d tear into his skin with her nails if she could. And she’s bursting and just overflowing with everything _everything_ , for this man.

 

And they kiss and kiss and _kiss-_

until their lips are ravished. Tingling and numb. Kisses that linger and last and melt into more. They knock the wind out of each other.

 

He walks her inside. Shuts out the cold with a kick of his foot slamming the door. She’s all his. He’s all hers. And soon, they’ll be half a world away, together.

 

_They’d never be apart, again._

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think? 💕


	51. Wandering Romance & Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _Take it how you got me now_  
>  _After breaking down my heart_  
>  _Take it how you want it_  
>  _Take all my love_  
>  ~ Another Jorja Smith song, Wandering Romance, cause she’s a luscious queen, ok?💕

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He woke up to the distant clanging peel of very catholic church bells. The bustle and fuss of car horns blaring and traffic, mopeds zipping along the lively inner city road. Couldn’t hear much of it mind- all the way, far up in the royal penthouse suite.

 

His eyes crack open, blurry foggy from such a deep sleep. His cheek rasps against the ten-million-or-whatever Egyptian cotton thread count sheets. He grumbles. Shifting around, covers slipping down his waist. He slings a big meaty arm across to find Evie. Seeking for her when he’s not even conscious. He hits upon the slippery cool paper feel of a hardback instead. He snuffles awake, fully opening his eyes to look across at his Kitten.

 

She’s sat up in bed. Covers thrown off. Knelt on her portion of the super triple emperor sized bed. In that angelic wispy old cotton nightdress. All crumpled up from her sleep. He likes how the lacy straps always seem to slip down, her soft shoulders peeping out. It winds him up. It’s got this completely tempting row of little mother of pearl buttons marching along the front of it. Entirely too irresistible to thing how they’ll scatter like rain if he rips it off her. He won’t- but he won’t say he’s never been tempted.

 

She’s knelt on the bed. Hair tied messily back in a droopy bun. Wide awake. Back to him. Feet tucked under herself. A library’s collections worth of tour guide and travel books fanned out in a semicircle around her. Raggedy worn watermelon post it’s flagging out from certain pages. She hears him shuffle to life. Sheets rustling.

 

His morning voice is that grumpy deep lull that shatters their quiet bedroom. Still the sound of his voice sent tremors through her. Had done since the day she met him.

 

“I see books continue to be my main rival for your attention.” He rumbles at her. Leaning his hand across. Fingers stroking her thigh. Watching her from where his messy bed head lay strewn back, socketed into the plump pillows.

 

She twists back and smiles at him. She moves over on her knees to plant a kiss on his lips. She’s all minty already. Smells like fresh green botanical perfume. Jasmine and geranium croon at him. And the citrus sticky clean of her face cream. She’s been up a while judging by that.

 

He’s smiling. Tugging her down to his warm chest. Trapping her there. She’s got no chance fighting those arms. Not a hope in hell. Squashed in that strong embrace, hands clasping around her and twisting them so they’re both on their sides. Face-to-face. Heads crowding for space on his pillow.

 

“I’m afraid books will always be your competing nemesis. But they come a very close second to you. Not the other way around.” She promises. Kissing the tip of his warm nose. His big hands rasp at the cotton brushing over her curves. Strokes her back. Follows the curved raised hill from her hip to her waist, to her ribs. That c-bout of her body.

 

She’s excited - and he loves it. She’s bursting at the seams to get out there and see this sprawling noisy loud city. He knows she’d already have a list of places she wants to see. Museums, Churches and piazza’s and Cathedrals. She can drag him anywhere she wants to go. He’ll gladly get trailed through Milan if it means he gets to hold her hand.

 

He insisted they do it all in style- truly no expense spared. Obvious right from the off as he asked Dominick for use of his private jet. Kylo didn’t seem like the budget airline type of traveler. They snoozed and lounged on the flight over. Had a four course Michelin star meal. (The plane comes with a chef, Kylo shrugged so modestly) They have pink sparkling Moët and canapés at 30,000 feet. The works.

 

One thing she loves about Kylo - he wasn’t afraid to enjoy things. Things some men would baulk at. Like admitting he needs a manicure or a massage. Or to be pampered cause he knows how good it makes him look and feel. And he’s had a severe lack of it these past few years. His masculinity is never in doubt or threat - his overall appearance alone makes perfectly sure of that.

 

To see him, sitting there in all his big fury, sipping dainty on pink sparkling wine. It’s a ridiculous image. A man like him tasting at a delicate flute of it. Makes her giggle. Bubbles go right up, sparkly, into her head. He gives her a smiling scowl that warns her he’ll pluck that laugh right off her lips with a champagne and tongues kiss - right in front of the hostess - if she’s not careful.

 

He caught up on some paperwork, she started on her travel guide books already. Giddy, as they soared through the clouds. Buzzed from sparkling pink prosecco. Snoozing in the private bedroom in Yves Delorme sheets, after a shower with the mini bvlgari wrapped-up-little travel soaps provided.

 

Evie goes to sleep snuggled safe to his naked chest. Smearing on a La Prairie $300 sleep mask, ready to wake up refreshed on Milano time.

 

A sleek chowder-grey Maserati Quattroporte, chauffeur driven, awaits them and all their Vuitton luggage (he indulged her in that too) at the airport, and drives them through bustling Italian streets to take them to the Excelsior Hotel.

 

Kylo holds her hand in the car. She’s practically got her nose pressed to the glass drinking everything in. Sipping at this typical roman city like she can get drunk on it. It’s hectic. It’s full of mopeds and language and _loud loud loud-_

 

Noisy and bright and busy. History stands open available in the street in the rusty sandstone hued buildings. Much more so than the white washed colonials back home. Every street is cobbled and smeared in beautiful history right alongside scrawling ugly graffiti. Fountains and squares and piazzas. Barrel clay tiles on every building top, the colour of marmalade. Bowling like little orange waves skipping over every roof. Everything here blares. The people. The traffic. It’s loud. Muggy and cool. Steamed heat in the air cooled by a lift of recent rain. The smell of it is tarmac and wet and road and dirt. She instantly gets what people say about Italy being lively and strident. Almost too much on the senses. They haven’t even left the car yet-

 

And she _can’t wait_ to see more-

 

He watches her absorb it all in. He’s smiling at her, and he knows he is. He’ll never stop. Travelling in Italy was almost perfunctory business now. He rarely took the time to stop and take it all in. It’s not new or exciting. He loves that gleam in her eyes as she watches this crazy busy city continue being itself. Makes his big empty tin chest heat up with affection.

 

She practically floats out the car when they get to the hotel. It’s a gigantic beast of a golden thing. Marble stone exterior all lit up the colour of churned butter. Dripping gild and charm off every brick. It’s polished and clean and Evie doesn’t even ask what the price for their room is per night - or she’d faint.

 

With Kylo. It’s the best of the best and he never disappoints. The hotel concierge comes springing out on the thick-spongy red carpet to the car, to give them both a personal greeting. Shakes Kylo’s hand like they’re the warmest of acquaintances. They are in a way. They’ve met before. Kylo used to be a regular to this grand hotel.

 

Eduardo- so manicured and groomed in his suit. So perfumed with bay and pepper and precise in appearance, Evie almost believes he isn’t real. A spectre there, with his perfectly arranged sable hair and a polished white smile. Diamond tie pin. Gucci shoes. The whole deal.

 

He leads them into the lobby, it’s all gold and black and steel. There’s most likely actual gold flecked in the obsidian marble she’s walking on. Scented flowers bloom on every table. Staff so neat posh and pressed they could all be fashion runway mannequins. The very air is perfumed with spicy ginger and clean sweet roses. She doesn’t know how. It’s mad. _Intoxicating_. Everything’s glittering. Shimmering wealth. Sparkling with it. The very air from the light is more golden than bubbly champagne. Its like she’s stepped through the looking glass. The only way she knows she’s not dreaming is the tactile feel of Kylo’s big warm hand curling around hers.

 

He also personally checks them in, and escorts them right up to their room on the eight floor, to show them the amenities. Via their own elevator entrance. Because nothing but the royal pent house suite would do- _obviously_.

 

They glide into the private elevator and come out into the living area. A marble clad, Murano chandelier dripping, B&B Italia furniture studded, entryway. The start of all 250-sqm of the suite.

 

Two suites. And two spare rooms beside that. A kitchenette. Two huge private terraces. A spa room exclusive for their use - with whirlpool bath and steam shower. And a butler to boot. On call night and day for whatever they may need.

 

Evie’d be summoning that butler for a tank of oxygen at this rate. This is a room fit for billionaires and oil sheikhs and prime ministers. And here she is- little old ordinary her.

 

Eduardo exclaims they’re both delightful - Kylo gives him a big big healthy tip- a wedge of euros - as a Thankyou. Nice to see him again. And the excellent man gives him his own personal business card and begs them to use him for anything they require. Apparently even phoning down to the reception was too good for them. The deities in their lofty royal penthouse.

 

After he leaves them to unpack - and after she’s wandered through every room too timid to touch anything. Just letting all the luxury strobe at her eyes like flashing twinkle lights. Kylo finds her -after a couple minutes of searching, it’s a big place after all - in the master bedroom he spots her. Steps out onto the terrace that is probably the same size as a varsity football field. They have the entire roof of the ginormous hotel. It has a wrought iron massive square gazebo that’s equal in size to her house. And a stone marble fountain. And luxury lawn furniture.

 

She’s stood there, absolutely overawed by the sight of the rooftops of fashionable Milan. They sit all jagged and higgledy on the horizon of this rustic loud city. Historic and stretching out rural red clay roofs all warm under the powder blue sky. Tuscan domes and churches and Rococo mansions. He comes up behind her. Gets in real close. Arms curl around her. Presses a line of kisses up up and up her jaw. She tilts her head and lets him. Body humming with bliss.

 

“I take it you like the room?” He smirks all secret and smug into her neck. Hands travelling down her sides. Raking up lust between them. She could feel it in the way the air sparked suddenly. Tight with anticipation. They’d slept on the plane. He had a surplus of energy for use now.

 

Between her legs she’s pulsing. Heart pumping insanely fast she thinks he can probably hear it thudding and snapping in her throat.

 

There might be tears in her eyes. That’s how much all this means to her. The trip of a lifetime. With the man that towered singular among millions. The truly huge enormous great _great_ love of her life.

 

She bites her lower lip. Catches it between her teeth and laughs. Speechless. She turns to him. Back pressed into the balustrade that looked down from their terrace onto the busy street, where no one can see them up here. She’s dizzy. With the height, The wealth. The grandeur. Dizzy with love.

 

She puts her hands on his shirt. The fine white thing not even creased from travel.

 

“There aren’t enough Thankyou’s in the world I can drum up for all of this Kylo.” She declares honestly. He knows he’s given her, her dream.

 

That makes him smile. One big mitt cups her warm neck, combs through her hair and he leans in, aching for a kiss. “You never need to thank me.” He hums into her mouth. Whispers it in her lips.

 

_Just love me._ He thinks.

 

And she does. Oh, she always does. Right to the tips of her fingers and her toes. Her big kind heart swamps him in love. She must have the courage of a lioness to love him the way she has done, and will continue to do.

 

No one else see’s what _she_ see’s in him. _They never will, either._

_Only ever Evie. His Kitten._

 

He fists his hands into her clothes. She’s learned what that means. Tight fabric stretching around her. He wraps her all up in his arms and carries her through to the master bedroom.

 

The big impressive thing that it was. Emperor bed. Beige chesterfield headboard the size of the wall. The bed a great square neat slab tucked with ludicrously high thread count Cavalli sheets. The ceiling is just all entirely a dripping chandelier. Hanging there like suspended rain drips. She wonders idly if they’re real crystal or actual diamonds. It wouldn’t shock her by this point-

 

He places her softly on the bed. Already having worked some of her things off as they walked there. Breadcrumb trail of them leading back to the terrace. He leaves the bifold doors wide open. No one will see. Who will see them up this high? He doesn’t care. He’s got this perfect aching _need_ for love to be taken care of.

 

He doesn’t give her time to adjust to him. Not now. He needs too much. Needy for this. Soon as they’re naked, he rams his cock right inside her. Shoving her up the bed. So strong. Always so strong. She yells out his name. A long scream of it that he drinks from her lips with a kiss.

 

“Scream for me, Kitten. Let them hear whose fucking you. Let the whole goddamn hotel listen to how _good_ I can fuck you.” 

 

He’s desperate nearly. Grinding, humping into her fast to warm her up to take him. He knows he’s huge but he also knows she can handle him.

 

“Ohh, that’s it baby... _that’s_ it...” He drawls. Shutting his eyes in bliss that bursts at his abdomen. Realising the craving crater in his stomach was well-fed now. This is what the gnawing hungry thing was after.

 

He looks down at her with warm wetness in this big brown eyes, like he can’t believe she’s real. He hooks one of her thighs up over his hip. Thrusts real deep. She’s choking on his name now. Biting her lip. tears in her eyes. One hand of his is flat to the fine almost-silken-sheets of the bed for leverage. The other comes up and grips her throat. Makes her mouth fall slack. He sucks on her bottom lip. Morphs it into a languid sloppy kiss.

 

He presses just enough to feel her breath bleed into his mouth. The sounds he’s forcing from jabbing at her g-spot is unreal. She’s sloppy wet around him, swilling wetness around his cock. It’s obscene and brutal. And so so so good that it’s a piercing pain as he pierced her deeper. That big cock of his going on and on like it always did. She doesn’t blink back her tears from such sharp pleasure.

 

He kisses the drips of salt away. Feeling her bounce into the matress and then back up into him as he fucks and ruts.

 

“I know it’s a lot, Kitten. I know. But you take me so fucking well. You take me so _fucking_ deep.” He groans.

 

She braces her hands on the headboard. Legs now locked tight on his sweaty hot back as he fucks her open. Body slipping to hers. He usually works her open, fingers her g-spot for a while, but there’s no patience for that today. He _had to be_ inside her.

 

Her calves were hot abrading his skin. Catching smooth against his rough scars. Hand in his hair. Sweat dropping down his nose onto her shoulder. Muggy steam hot as breath that they swallow up into kisses. She whines and bucks as he finds her g-spot. Even then he doesn’t let up.

 

Doesn’t let up as she cums. He keeps going. On and on. Fucks her well into the night. She groans and cries she can take it. Take more. He indulges her.

 

“Best sex of your life, huh kitten?” He smirks so self assured. _He’s not wrong._ Leaning up and watching her after he’s made her gush for the third time. Pinning her hands to the headboard above them. Holding her tight. Flushed bellies rubbing together. Thrusting to the hilt again. Worrying her neck to blossom with bite marks. He wants her wearing her hair up. Wants everyone to see how good she looks when she’s all marked up with him.

 

The bed’s clattering so loud against the wall the whole floor below most likely hears how damn good he’s fucking her. He doesn’t care. 

 

He’s just felt her orgasm flow out around him. Pattering wet to the - now sticky - slippy white sheets. She just whines. Nodding furiously. He’s still working himself slowly inside her tight scorching petaled heat. So slow every time he sinks to the hilt again, she cries out. So vulnerable. Pinned out gasping up at him and dripping all over his dick. 

 

It’s hours after they started fucking. It’s dark out now. Cool night air spills in. Infused with city sounds. Must be getting on for midnight and she’s too wrapped up in him to care. The sheets are mussed and wrinkled. Ruined with sweat and their other fluids. Lost count of the times they’ve lost each other to orgasm. It’s way too many.

 

Her nails skid to dig in his back as she yanks him closer. He hoists her up. Brings her round, sets her on his lap and shoves his cock up into her that way. Her knees around his hips. Latching them as one.

 

They shimmer silver in sweat in the bedside light that glows honey soft, and casting Italian moonlight crusades on them from the big open terrace balcony door too. Through the gauzy moth wing white curtains. Neither of them want to get up to close it. He buries his mouth in her neck and it’s her perfume and clean soap and skin.

 

And he’s _home_.

 

He holds over the raised hills of her shoulder blades. Nosing under her ear, pushing up into her jaw. Her hair stringy and wet on his hot mouth. He combs it out his way. Rests his head in the hollow of her throat.

 

She rocks on him as easy as breathing. It’s slow and careful. Barely shifting hips. And he’s inhabiting a deeply secret place in her eyes as she moves, rocking onto him. Hands on his shoulders. Scraping at his slick sweaty hair. Whispering her love at him. How good he feels rubbing his big cock at her over sensitive, trembling walls. Sucking at him like wet velvet. Scorching him in bliss.

 

He kisses her shoulders. Her biceps. Cheeks. Neck. Anything within reach, he takes. Claims over and over as his, evermore. Sucks violet flowers of bruises on her skin. If she whines? He sucks harder. Really gets her groaning his name. He wants her loud. Wants her shouts rattling his bones. Splitting his head. He wants the whole floor below to hear them going at it.

 

They both cum like that. It’s too irresistible. Staring deep into each other’s eyes. And watching so intently. It’s the most intimate thing he’s ever done. He groans her name and so much mumbled love onto her sweaty skin.

 

He rolls her onto her back, still socketed deep inside her quivering pussy. They fall asleep like that. She curls her legs around him. Big weight crushing her. Her lungs squeezed out clean. Hips smacking into hers as he rolls them. She doesn’t mind. She likes it. Welcomes it. She strokes his hair. He nearly drools on her tits as he sleeps in bliss. She kisses his temples. Whispers flutter from lips of how much they both love each other.

 

Wakes her up hours later. Sucking at her ripe little nipples. Tasting her. Slipping off her breast with a wet sucking slurping pop when she comes too. Leaving skin red and glistening from his tongue. Scooping her up for a steam shower.

 

He rubs his kittens sleepy body down with the La Mer soap. Works his big strong fingers deep into her tired muscles. Bruises from their fucking already blooming up on her skin. He lathers and washes her hair gently with his big clumsy hands. Skull so delicate in under his touch. Like eggshell. She repays the favour.  
  


Scrubs up his hair and scalp with her nails. Only she has to get him to kneel so she can reach his hair. Of course he obeys. Holds her wet hips. Sucks kisses and water drips off her belly. Nose nudged into her belly button. His hands skim up her legs and thighs. Nails drawing patterns up her flesh. He mouthed over her pussy too. Presses kisses to her soft cresting mound.

 

They dry together. Wrap up in fluffy hotel robes. He orders them some room service. Red wine and cured deli meats, plump wet olives, dried fruits, warm crusty bread, olive oil, and dark bitter balsamic vinegar to dip it into, and some of the best posh French and Italian cheeses. They eat it sat up in bed. Lounging naked in robes. Feeding and sucking bits of their midnight feast off each other’s fingers. They don’t care that it’s nearly two in the morning. They’re buzzed off wine and sleep and still giddy from such great sex.

 

They do fall asleep after that. And they woke up as they were now. Her with her books. She put on her nightgown to sit and look at her travel guides. She wasn’t comfortable with lounging around naked. Always covers up in a cute nightdress. His hands have captured her. He’s keeping her hostage.

 

“Do you have to work today?” She asks him. Stroking back the coils of silky hair that fell in his face.

 

“Of course not. _Today_ , I’m taking you sightseeing.” He promises. Smooching a kiss to her shoulder. Looking innocent and batting his lashes as he does. Nosing at her skin. Snuggling into her warmth.

 

“We better get out of bed. There’s a lot of Italy to see.” She insists. Giggling giddy when he nuzzles into her neck. She coils up in pleasure. He’s rolling over and pinning her to the bed.

 

“It’ll still be there in half an hour...” He growls. Nipping her neck with his crooked white smile.

 

“I’ve been burned by that before.” She says wryly.

 

Her stomach gurgles a growl. He kisses her neck. “Breakfast first.” He grouches. Pinching her ass for being cheeky. It was his duty privilege to take care of her. And he would.

 

They wash and dress up. He called down for a classic Milan breakfast. Prima Colazione. Baked eggs and Italian sausage, and some savoury torte with spinach, Pecorino cheese, thick deli ham and salami. She chose a thick frothy caffé latte. He opts for the ridiculously triple strength roasted black coffee. Darker than ink. The finest thing Italy has to offer. It’s a nice morning and they dine on the terrace. Evie devours every bite. It’s delicious. Not a complex cuisine. But brimming with traditional warm flavour.

 

They get ready - she grabs one or two (three) of her travel books and he gets started on showing her Milan. Keeping a surprise in store for her later. He rang down to Eduardo to arrange it whilst she got dressed. He assured Kylo he’d see to it personally.

 

They take the car into the busy heart of the city. Evie insists they’ll miss the vibe of the place hopping in and out from a big blacked out car. He agrees. They walk the route he knows well the Piazza del Duomo. Takes her first off to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuelle. An 18th century, high-end shopping arcade. They walk arm in arm down the cobbles.

 

She’s in a way too cute white flower-meadow wrap around tea dress with frills and a tempting little bow at the waist. 1940’s cap sleeves. Bag slung over her shoulder heavily weighted with books. Small blush pink block heels on her feet that were comfy for walking in.

 

Oh, he’s a sight too. As per usual. In his grey suit trousers, dress shoes. Dark granite suit jacket. And an white-eggshell shirt that she picked out for him this morning. A deep soft colour. He always did prefer the cooler shades. She hangs off his arm and treats him like _he’s_ the prize to be won in this relationship. He smiles just watching her drink in this busy town. He gives her a penny coin to flick into the cornflower-teal fountain. The old marble smeared and aged with moss around the edge. Bernini-esque naked marble figures frolic in the middle. Spouting water. It spits and pats the surface.

 

She leans a hand on the edge and throws it in. Tosses it with a smile. Watches it sink to the bottom to join in with the silvery-copper scales in the penny graveyard below the shifting teal water.

 

He watches her. Warmly. Stood there. Hands in his pockets. Indulging in her sweetness. Gleaming onyx Cartier shades covering his eyes. His smile creasing his cheeks and his eyes. Birds flutter overhead. Clapping the air. Somewhere off in the bustling square a busker is playing an acoustic six string. The air is alive with chatter from all the cafes in the square. People smoking, drinking, eating and talking. It’s sociability this lifestyle. Evie likes that.

 

All the little square tables set with chairs cluttered with friends enjoying coffee, or beers. The old gnarled olive trees that shimmer with the mild sunshine glittering the leaves like gold hazy smoke. It’s beautiful.

 

The breeze catches her dress as they walk along past the gleaming row of expensive shops. The wind curls back her dress to show the outline of her delicious thighs - Kylo thinks so anyway. He tightens his grasp on her hand a little when some men’s stares linger too long on her. He can’t blame them. But she’s very much taken. He’s sure to fix a hard look to any lingering licentious eyes.

 

Evie tugs him to various windows. Antique shops. Little boutiques. Bookshops cause he’d worry she was _ill_ if she didn’t do that. He eyes up the designer shops here. A good selection. Gucci. Swarovski. Vuitton. He watches Evie almost too closely as she admires a pretty jewel encrusted hair-clip in the Marco Bigeco, a luxury jewellers, window. Her attention is taken up however, by a tiny old gelato shop not too far away. She slips off to get them one each.

 

Kylo smirks. Says he’ll wait right where he is. He _lies_. He marches into the jewellers the instant she slips away.

 

When she comes back - one tub of raspberry and another of pistachio. He’s leaning suave against the arcade crackled marble pillar. Swinging a polished little white bag off one hooked finger. She makes a face that would be ticking him off, if she wasn’t blushing.

 

“What’s this?” She says as she hands him his tub of silky pistachio gelato. Sucking a pea-green dribble off her thumb. He likes how the raspberry stains her lips so slightly a Cupid’s-heart-tea-rose pink. He wants to lean over and suck the tart taste away.

 

“Better open it and find out, Kitten...” He grins. Slipping the little plastic spoon off his wicked tongue. She hands him her tub of gelato. He grins watching her slide her hand into the bag and feeling the little rounded velvet box. She pulls it out and snaps it open-

 

It’s the exact hair clip she was admiring in the window not five minutes ago. 18ct white gold. With 15ct diamonds studded all over the curling silver teeth of the claw clip.

 

“It’s gorgeous. I don’t deserve spoiling like this...” She’s blushing.

 

“Blasphemy.” He plucks a warning hot kiss at her cheek. “I’ve got money. I like spending it on you. You’ll let me. Case closed.” He finalises. “Besides...” He starts. Voice tipping up at the end of his sentence.

 

“You can model it for me tonight.” He teases. Kisses her jaw all flirty. She slips the gorgeous designer thing back in its home in the bag and eyes him with suspicion.

 

“What are you plotting now?” She narrows her eyes with a playful smile tugging at her expression. He always has tricks up his sleeves this man. She quite adores that. He never runs out of ways to surprise her.

 

“Top secret.” Brow quirks up. He smirks as he steals a scoop of her gelato. Swipes a finger through and sucks off the taste. Hums nicely in the flavour when it bursts tart across his tongue. Kissing the back of her hand before putting the ice cream tub back in it.

 

He takes her along. Grabs her hand and marches up towards the Leonardo3 - the Da Vinci museum with a terribly handsome smirk. “Come on. Babe. You’ll love this...” He promises. They finish up their gelato and head on in.

 

She does love it. He was right. As he so usually is. She buys some tasteful postcards at the gift shop for Flo. A mini little replica of the flying machine for Arthur. She bought Cally a funky long sleeved bohemian da Vinci t-shirt that she knew she’d love.

 

They wander further around town. More sight seeing. Evie holds his hand and points out some of the sights she read about in her books. He does the same in return. Stands behind her, holds her hips, points out some of the architectural styles that he loves. And there’s _so_ many to chose from.

 

Neoclassical. Renaissance. Ancient Roman. Baroque. All mashed together in cities like this. Blended and updated with some modern touches. But still the old style peeps through.

 

This Duomo is as intricate and as intimidating as gothic Italian gets. More ruffles and flounces and trims than an iced wedding cake. The whole place is the colour of dirty-ivory bones. Dotted with huge arched tracery laced windows.

 

As they stand like that, him behind, his mouth next to her ear as he talks animatedly about the Italian gothic Duomo Di Milano. How it took almost six centuries to complete. It’s the third largest Cathedral in Europe. Started building in 1386. And didn’t complete til 1965. As he talks, a sweet little Italian nonna shuffled past them with bags of heavy shopping. And cackles something throaty and loud that Evie doesn’t understand. Gesturing her hand wildly at them - attacking them with jovial words. But her body language was friendly.

 

“ _Grazie_...” Kylo tips a nod at her. Dark voice melting into rhythmic Italian. Smile creasing. Evie’s cheeks heat. Matter of fact she flushed down her neck. _Oh_ , cause-

 

_He sounded awfully irresistible speaking Italian._

 

“I recognised the word ‘beautiful’ in there somewhere. I think?” She says after the old lady totters off down the street. Kylo smiles in her throaty staccato wake. Evie twists back, looking up, cups his hand where it’s slid over her tummy. His hands span her tiny body.

 

“She said we look like ‘a very romantic couple.’” He offers. Evie’s cheeks warm up again.

 

“I’m pretty certain she was just making love eyes at _you_ , darling.” She confirms with a grin. Patting his hand. “They usually do.” She adds.

 

He was every grandmothers weakness, she’d decided. He was tall, leggy, broad. A perfect specimen of manhood they all fawned over. Wanted to squeeze at his thick biceps. Pinch his cheek and call him a sweetie. Sit him down and feed him home cooked meals. He looked like a kind sturdy man. One heavy-set enough to carry their bulky shopping across a road whilst it’s pouring rain.

 

His smile creases. He looks down warmly at her through her shades. “Come on, you.” He smirks. Holds her hand. Leads her across the hulking great cathedral to the entryway

 

It’s cool musk enveloped them as they walked into the mighty shadow of the hallowed halls. Could smell the cold wet of the marble. Grubby pearl marble. It smells ancient. This hulking proud white relic. Wood from the pews. The faint tang of dirt that came with a building in it impressive old age. The floor tiles are huge and sprouting beautiful flower patterns. There’s a hush in the place as people mill around and take pictures. Admiring the splendour of this place.

 

Kylo’s quietly rattling off facts for her as she walks along. Holding his hand. Telling her something fascinating about the sheer number of gargoyles. There’s big grey pillars sunk down thick from the massive intricacy of the ceiling. Stained glass windows filters the watery slants of sunshine into cherry and sapphire, moss and canary.

 

They walk down the aisle of this big echoing church. Hand in hand still. Admiring it. Up the front near the tiered iron black votive stands, a hundred or more, tapered Dorset cream candles lick flickering apricot up into the air. Candles lit in remembrance.

 

Evie goes up to the donation box and slots a few euro coins in. She grabs two candles from the spare stack underneath the votive. Lights them from the ones already lit there. One for mum. One for Gran. She sets them into the little holders and watches them flicker.

 

Kylo _knows_ who she’s lit them for. He won’t be lighting any. It’s not who he is to remember people. He’s got no one worthy of it.

 

He rubs her lower back from behind. Loving her reverence. He’d been cruelly robbed of the capacity for such a thing. All compassion and respect for devout faith had been bled out of him the first day his father had split his skin. He’d been six years old.

 

She tucks hair behind her ear and smiles fondly at the candles. She wasn’t a devoted church goer. Yet, soft little prayers are running through her head.

 

‘ _I wish I could see you guys again. Just for an hour. Talk to you about everything that’s happened. You’d like him. Mum. You really really would. Gran would too. And please know, that I miss you both every single day.’_

 

She takes her hands away from the votive. Dripping wax set there like eerie long stalag-tight fingers. Dripping to the floor. She goes back to Kylo. Back to his side. Back to wrapping his big hot palm around hers. They walk away. Stepping to look some more around to appreciate more beauty of the Duomo.

 

She doesn’t miss how Kylo’s not so subtle keeps-on-sneaking glances at his Tag Huer watch. She eyes him up as he does it for the third time since they stepped in the church.

 

They step out into the sunshine and she asks him about it.

 

“Are we supposed to be somewhere?” She asks. He frowns.

 

“You keep checking your watch.” She points out with a soft smile. Nodding to it. He gives her the start of that curling smirk.

 

“Come on trouble. I’ll buy you lunch.” He leads her across the square, down a tiny alley, And then another, swings a left, and a right. Squeezing down cramped rust red streets, coming to a tiny tucked away Italian bistro.

 

A poky tiny friendly looking building in the square, smothered in grape vines. Romano’s Taverna reads the faded sign. Rickety metal tables and chairs crammed out front onto the cobbles under big spreading olive trees and umbrellas. Kylo walks her over the little unassuming square. Children laugh and play football around the fountain. The most heavenly scent of food spices the air. Evie’s stomach is growling already.

 

There’s an uproar as Kylo steps close. The waiters smile and address him personally. “ _Ciao_. Signore Ren.” Two of the waiters come over to clasp at and shake his hands. Gabbling Italian at him. Kylo smiles at them whilst taking off his shades. Reserved but friendly. They smile a polite ‘Molto Benno, Signorina.’ at Evie. She blushes. They show her and Kylo to a set table for them. Pull out their chairs.

 

They’ve barely touched upon the seats, and a bottle of red is on the table being poured in two glasses. Kylo introduces Evie to the waiter he knows well. Vincenzo. A young man with bronze olive skin, spiky black hair, a perpetual wide smile on his lips and soft soft almond brown eyes - Evie reaches over and shakes his hand. He kisses it and nods his head politely. Pays her a compliment that’s friendly. Says it’s lovely to meet her. Then he pours the wine - firmly assures Kylo the wine is _the_ best. Very special for him brought up from the cellar. On the house. Kylo quips something short and witty in Italian that makes Vincenzo chuckle.

 

Their loud waiter wasn’t joking. Evie can still see the dust on the racing green glass. A musty yellow label on the bottle of 1946 Chianti Classico.

 

They don’t get to see a menu. Vincenzo assures them they’ll be cooked something ‘ _very special. Molto speciale. For you, and your charming signorina, Signori Ren.’_ He promises. He whirls away to serve some more people. Evie turns to him with a grin.

 

“I know the whole Romano family. I was the head designer on a house up in the hills years ago, when I was still with Maddox & Haig. I come here to eat when I’m in town. I know the owner. Vincenzo’s father, Luca. He’s very rich. He’s a wine merchant. Opened this taverna, twenty years ago, now its passed onto his kids.” Kylo explains.

 

That would explain the familiarity of their warm greeting. They all but hung out the banners and bunting for them. Wine on the house and attentive service.

 

“He was so grateful and genuine to me. Any wine I order, I get it from him. He’s _the_ best. Ships all the way to the states specially for me. I pay him top dollar for it. I always make sure to stop by when I’m in Milan, or Italy. He insists on it. I always get the best table and six or seven courses of food.” He grins. Sipping the Chianti. Good year too.

 

Evie smiles. That’s so nice. “Luca has good taste.” She smiles. Folding her hand over his on the table. He strokes their fingers together.

 

This is what Italy is all about- It’s family and laughter and life. The warmth and joviality of old friends catching up. It’s the rich delicious scent of home-cooked food and plenty of wine or coffee to wash it all down.

 

“Hope you know both you and I will be leaving this table two stone heavier.” Kylo smirks. Folding his napkin over his thighs.

  
At that point Vincenzo waltzes back over, his big happy musical walk, and places two steaming, ginormous domed pasta dishes in front of them - their _primi_.

 

A mound of baked golden-green figs wrapped up like parcels in salty Parma ham. Topped with blue cheese and balsamic and honey and baked until sticky. The next course is a prawn and monkfish soup. Delicate models of white chunked seafood balanced in a sweet cherry tomato sauce. Sweetened with basilica.

 

Then after that is a Puglian Lamb stew. Thyme. Bay and black olives in the darkly reduced sauce with a boned leg of lamb succinctly drowned in the sauce. Made with stock and red wine. After that, a crab and Prosecco linguine. Studded with slices of chilli, tomato and olive. Drizzled with plenty of olive oil.

 

Evie’s never been so glad to see a pudding arrive in all her life. After the torrent of amazing rich food. Panettone and honey pudding with chargrilled fruits and ricotta. Then to top it all, the coffee comes - along with a platter of baked peaches stuffed with amaretto biscuits, walnuts, and raisins. They are served two dark macchiatos swirled with milk, with a side of squishy white squares of Sardinian nougat. Studded with almonds and apricots. And some pistachio salted chocolate biscotti.

 

The coffee is good - roasted and strong bitter, too much for her, but it’s good. Kylo drinks his no problem. Evie cuts the sweetness with the little squares of nougat and chunks of biscotti.

 

Vincenzo comes out whilst they’re sipping on their coffee. Asks Kylo how everything was. Kylo says something flattering in Italian. Vincenzo thanks him. ‘Amico mio.’

 

_My friend._

 

Evie doesn’t hesitate either, in telling him it was _beautiful_. All of it was. The best food she’s ever tasted and she was speaking with pure honesty on that front. He kisses the back of her hand and thanks her with a big wide smile for that. “Grazie. Grazie _Mille_ , Signorina. I wish you both a happy day. Always the best for Mr. Ren.” He says as he helps them out their seats. No cheque came.

 

He helps Evie out first. Kylo’s stepping up and clasping hands with their waiter. Evie likes that he presses a healthy wodge of euro notes into Vincenzo’s hand. He tries to resist. Insists its on the house.

 

Kylo’s not backing down. He says so. She recognised the name ‘Luca’ in his staccato short speech. He fights to remember the correct Italian verbs.

 

Vincenzo takes the money reluctantly. Shaking hands warmly with him. Thanking him. “Bongiorno Signori. Signorina.” He nods at both of them.  
  
  


Kylo grasps Evie’s hand and they walk off with broad smiles. Off into the late blaze of afternoon sun. Back to the piazza del Duomo. He watches how the sun shines copper gauzy through her white dress.

 

He checks at his watch again. She’s too busy looking at the fountain, and the big doming arch of Vittoria Galleria arcade to notice. Admiring the way the sun skips ochre across the warm sun-baked golden stone. Everything in Italy seems crafted out of gold or copper when the sun shines on it.

 

“No more time for exploring today. We better get back to the hotel, Kitten.” He pipes up as they come to the galleria where they walked through. Going back part all the glittering designer shops.

 

“Why would that be?” She seeks.

 

He smirks. “You’ve got a two and a half hour spa appointment at 5. For a zen bathing and all over body massage.” He points out.

 

She’s making a face of shock up at him. He looks suave and smug as ever. Casual. “What’s the occasion for such a treat?” She asks, bewildered. Smile splitting wide.

 

“You’re my smart girl. You’ll figure it out. Especially when you see the dress I’ve got you for tonight.” He smirks. Kissing the back of her hand.

 

They walk off into that late Milano afternoon. His surprise perched, lingering on the horizon. He only hope it brought her the best Milan had to offer.

 

_He knows it will._

 

 

~

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summing up this chapter is simple. Italy. Wine. Good food. And sex.
> 
> Any thots? 💕


	52. These Foolish Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I totally didn’t get stuck on naming this chapter and resort to a billie holliday song ok (ok lies) but we’ll just go with like a happy accident 💕

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie had very loose ideas of heaven and hell. She’s not sure she entirely believes in that old adage of brimstone and flames. The only thing like that she knows, is the hellish blank expression Kylo gets on his face when he’s well-and-truly-livid.

 

But that afternoon, as she’s wallowing in a big circular bath tub. Teal water milky with oil and soaps, and full of spice. Of flower petals. This spa room is the one saved for the most luxurious of expensive treatments. It’s a delightfully dimmed bronze room.

 

Hickory walnut walls shot through with gold and metallic umber. Dense but beautifully rich. The room is sparse save for the door, the bath and one tiled stony wall backlit. So it glimmered beige-carob off each square stone. Caramel grey limestone tiles patchwork the floor, heat seeps up between the cracks. Speakers socketed secretly in all four corners of the big room. Meditative spa music is lulling her to dozy relaxation.

 

She’s sure this is what heaven must be like. Serenity. Air perfumed by rose petals, geranium leaves and dried lavender. Studded with bright red hibiscus flowers too. An exotic touch. She’s been massaged and rubbed and scrubbed all over her skin with Shisheido spa products that smelt delicious. A salty scrub. Then a mousse-like lotion. Then an oil. Smells even more delicious now she’s wearing it all over her buffed silken skin. Her treatment was over now. She was just lounging in the luxury for a little while. She’d get out soon and go back to the suite. Back to her Kylo.

 

A glass of jasmine tea had been brought in for her by her personally assigned masseuse - Yua. A very sweet Japanese girl, who Evie must say, absolutely had some sort of magic in her fingertips. She’d absolutely leave Yua a big expensive tip at the front desk in an envelope before they went out on whatever evening Kylo had in mind. Because this treatment is worth everything, and more besides, it’s insane price tag. And she appreciates the people around them.

 

She’d been beautified too - that was probably Kylo’s doing. She had a facial and a manicure and pedicure before her full body massage. She wiggles her toes in the water and looks down at the colour she’d chosen. A plum rosy red - sugar and spice the name was. Same on her nails too. She decides to clamber out of heaven at last. Begrudgingly. But her lover had planned a lovely surprise for them. She’d hate to miss out his secret, for want of wallowing like a hippo in her bath of luxury.

 

She sits up and swings her legs over the bath. Warm tiles from the heated floor prickle warm at her feet. Pats dry her smooth skin with the fluffy hotel insignia towel Yua left out for her. She wraps herself up in the robe she brought in. The quietly calm music flutters pan pipes through the warm fragranced air. Evie us happily wrapped up here, in the cosy warm cocoon of the spa. The air passing over her skin like the brush of a soothing blanket.

 

She folds her robe across herself and steps back through the spa. Thanking the receptionist on the desk, she gets in the private lift back into her suites entrance with the key card in her pocket. She felt odd wandering around the hotel in just a robe. Cool air snuck up her thighs and made her shiver. Elevator doors open on the lounge. The air in the suite seems so dark still and silent compared to the chatter and life of the Spa on the floor below.

 

The chandeliers are dimmed moody low. Some Neom Brazilian rosewood and jasmine candles flutter flames of perfume up on the dining table. She smiles. Heading to the bedroom. Maybe she’d catch sight of him in there. When she comes to their room, clutching her gown lapels from the chilly air, she pads past the perfectly remade bed- stopping short.

 

A big white Prada box is laid out on the bed. With a small shoe box of the same silver enshrined brand logo next to it. She cautiously walked over and lifts the lid. Tissue paper flutters and rustled. Candy violet perfume that had to be expensive danced it’s notes on the air. She shifts through the layers, parting them with the crinkle if it filling the bedroom. Red peeks at her through the layers.

 

She brings out a dress - a ball gown really. A red strapless gown. Slightly fluted floor length mermaid skirts. Boning under the bodice forming a dipped bowed, almost square, neckline. Pointed toward the arms, where the fabric met the boning. A violent tulip silk. Not too shiny though. The fabric was more matte. She checks the littler box, and sure enough there was a pair of skinny slim court strap, red heels in there too. The exact same shade as the dress.

 

She tilts her head. Because tucked into the shoes. Resting along the silver of the insole, are a pair of tickets. She lifts them out and smiles as she reads the Italian on them. Tickets. To a night at the _Opera_.

 

Tosca. At the world famous Teatro alla Scala. She puts the tickets down next to the gorgeous dress. She has to find Kylo. Approaching the bathroom door, her face pulls into a grateful smile. She can scent his shaving soap. That Truefitt & Hill lemon spice of it on the muggy bathroom air.

 

She pushes the door inwards and pads across to him over the warm tiles. Under floor heating everywhere in this phenomenal hotel. He catches her coming into the bathroom and she sees his leer - curling up smirk - in the mirror.

 

He’s fresh out the shower. The steam from it still clouding the air. Misty on the mirror that he’s cut a clear smeared shape into to shave. He’s stood at the counter. Big carved out of marble body. Towel wrapped and slung down dangerously low on his massive snake-hips.

 

Tatted muscles flexing where his face was half obscured in shaving foam down to his neck. The Eshavé razor raking it away. Sink steaming away in front of him. She watches the water drips bead and roll down his silvery healed scars and those demonic tattoos scratched like splashed of neat ink, across that broad wide back

 

She comes right across and wraps her arms around his back from behind. Squishing him into a hug. His skin so hot it burned her hands. She kisses soapy droplets away from his back. Nuzzles that expensive soap scented back of his. Cradles her head between his shoulder blades. Hugging the stuffing out his ribs. It was about as crushing as being held by a soft plushie toy, to him.

 

It was an odd thing, but something about seeing the sugar plum red painted on her short nails makes him horny, somehow. He could picture those nails leaving clutch marks in his back like they always do. He likes the spitfire sting of those marks. He flaunts them like trophies.

 

She feels his chuckle roll through him. Darker than splintering crackle of granite.

 

“Saw the dress then?” He smirks. Washing out the razor. Starting on his left cheekbone.

 

“And the Tosca tickets.” She beams. “Why red?” She seeks. Kissing a sepia bleeding rose on his back. A dagger struck through the raining petals.

 

“Gotta wear red silk to the opera, Kitten.” He smirks obviously. “We are in Italy after all. It’s the law.” He presses with a sharp smile.

 

Now the Prada makes sense. No one does red dresses like the Italian designers.

 

She catches his eyes in the mirror. He looks awful proud of himself. “I’ve never been to the opera...” She tells him. Unlinking her arms from around his middle. Going to stand by his side instead. Leaning the back of her hips against the counter.

 

“Wanna help finish me off?” He smirks. She blushes. Tucking a coil of hair back behind her ear. “Sure.” She smiles.

 

_Always so un-prevailingly sweet for him._

 

He grins. Hoists her up by the waist. Plonks her plump little butt right on the counter space next to the sink. Knees dangling over the side, his hands cover her kneecaps. She picks up the razor and he initiates more closeness. Barely a hairs breadth away. Those damp-warm, towel clad insane thighs, pressed right up to her.

 

He hands her the razor. Skims his palms up her thighs. She patiently rakes away the rest of the foam and stubble on his face. He pushes his chin on into her shoulder. When he’s finished nuzzling her neck to tickle so much, she grasps at his hair and laughs. Toes curling with the sensation.

 

“You smell pretty- And expensive.” He hums pleased against her silky skin. Fragrance beating off her. Some richly complex unfamiliar spa flavour on her skin. Salt and musky juniper balm and geranium and the tonic tang of mandarin. The damp sickly of roses also curls at his nose.

 

She reaches for his balm and squirts a thick blob of it into her palms. Rubbing them up and then patting them all over that big handsome face that’s entirely too close. Watching her. Wet ink hair pushed back on his head. A few unruly curls lap at his forehead where he looks down to tend to the soapy sink.

 

He checks his reflection in the mirror. Evie’s quiet. Just watching him. Smiling. So fully consumed by him would be like she’d been possessed a fevered madness - if it wasn’t so good.

 

“I’m wearing my Prada tux tonight. We’ll be a matching pair.” He smiles into the mirror. Rubbing through his hair with some La Mer renewal oil. Made it bouncy soft and shining. Loved loved _loved_ when she gave him scalp scritches with her nails. Really helps to work the oil into his scalp. Keeping his hair at it’s silky raven-black best. Kept it smelling lush too. Thick golden like honey in his hands. Scents of freesia, violet leaf and gardenia. _Like spring._

 

She slips off the counter. Her soft feet smacking the floor with a dull thud. “I better get presentable.” She tells him. Reaching for her makeup bag off to the side on the far dresser.

 

He halts her purposefully. When he sneaks a finger to hook under the sash of her robe. She’s about to turn when he tugs until the sash gives way. She helps a little as the white fluffy towelling pools off her, and crumpled at her heels. Utterly naked.  
  


That big hot body of his suddenly at her back. Tweaking a nipple. Slipping between her hot damp thighs. Lips speak steamy heat at her shoulder. Brush of him cool wet drapes her skin.

 

“ _Now_ , you’re perfectly presentable, Kitten.” He teases the shell of her with the bare bones of a simple kiss. Spins her in his arms and tucks her close. Getting her up against him - not wasting a second of her nakedness.

 

She’s trying not to feel too vulnerable in all her bare state. He makes it easy. The way his hands caress her thighs and her ass. “You’re a despicable fiend.” She kisses onto his lips. Snatching her gown back up and heading to be less naked elsewhere- at the vanity dresser in their room.

 

_Your despicable fiend, Kitten._

 

He likes to think of himself more as an opportunist. He smirks watching her go. He better get ready too. He lumbers to the dressing rooms branches off the en-suite. Adoring the sight of her layering on her makeup in the mirror. A glass of wine resting at her side from one of the tiny bottles in the complimentary mini-bar.

 

He dries off his hair and body, pats on cologne, and pulls on his very fine, completely pressed Prada dark suit. It tucks his body into a seamless tailored shape. All black long limber lines. Sharp shoulders. Intense massive frame of his gushing out, onyx luxury.

 

He’s slipped on his shoes and is fiddling with his bow tie when he steps back into the bedroom. He can’t help smirking when he sees her. She’s got that dress slipped up her body, a split red V at the back of it gathered stark next to her pale skin. She’s holding it together at the undone zip fastening. She’s bunched her hair up messy and cute. Held in place with the bite of the silver claw clip he brought her just this afternoon. Diamonds gleaming outward from the tumble of her hair.

 

His pads cushioned on the carpet. He leaves his bow tie for a second. Gets behind her. Presses a kiss to her naked shoulder. He really should get her in strapless dresses more often. She looks too good in them. With her hair up too? His eyes can carve their flint paths along her neck. She looks _deliciously_ good.

 

“Here...” He offers. Big fingers finding the tiny snaking train of the zipper teeth. Pulling up the tab to enclose her in the dress. Gentle shriek of that zip pressed between their bodies as he guides it up. Hooked the fastener together.

 

The severe cut of it slashed straight, catching just below her shoulder blades. She had gossamer blush silk for skin. So delicate under his violent hardened fingers. Kylo seized her hips and drops kisses at both raised hills of shoulder blade bones.

 

She straightens the bodice in the mirror. Admiring how the dress looked. How it fit her like a glove. Sculpted her body into something more magnificent than she ever thought it capable of looking. Thick fabric drapes her. Stark as the shade of cut rubies. Throbbing-spilt-veins kind of bright red. She runs two hands down her thighs. He listens how the thick fabric rustles under her palms. Examines how it looks on her in the mirror.

 

He’s admiring her too. The way the skirts flare at her calves like red hibiscus petal. His eyes stick on the shimmering makeup on her cheekbones. The plume of blush on soft cheek. The gorgeous arch of her throat. The shuttering of her dark lashes and the rose bush plump of her lipstick. She sits on the bed to put on her skinny heels. Kylo sinks to a crouch and helps her.

 

She watches how his big fingers so ably do up the little buckles. Checking they’re not too tight around her ankles. Leans in for a kiss as his reward when he’s finished. Of course she gives it to him.

 

“You’re beautiful.” He tells her simply. Warm wetness blazing in his deep chestnut, dark eyes.

 

“So are you.” She answers openly. Standing. Height upped a little. Heels stabbing the plush thick carpet as she does up his bow tie.

 

“I’m really looking forwards to this...” She grins. So elated she feels she could jump over the moon. Every day with Kylo had her feeling that way.

 

“Not much call for attending the opera back home.” She states.

 

“I’d thought about flying you to New York or San Francisco to see the greats, sometime.” He mumbles perfectly casual. She knows he doesn’t joke about quality or spoiling her.

 

“That being said, Tosca in Milan is a great starting block.” He tells.

 

She believes him - was never in any doubt anyway. She tugs both sides of that onyx silk-faille bow tie. Straightens it. Fixes it on his big perfect neck. Smooths both hands down his silken lapels. Looking up at him lovingly.

 

“To the opera?” She asks.

 

“To the opera.” He answers. Grabs her hand, fingers slot as one, she grabs her purse, and off they go into that charred ochre, bruised blush sunset.

 

They are chauffeured to their destination, once again, in the chowder grey Maserati. Holding hands and watching Milan night life carve on around them. The merry Piazzas and golden glow of restaurants looks too genial next to the rust brick clay of the buildings, and the sapphire ink of the sky. Mopeds still zip about on the road. Loud and whiny like wasps. Evie’s starting to learn that mopeds are everywhere. That too - is a way of life. A way to get around this sprawling historic rabbit warren of a city. All it’s narrow lanes and alleys.

 

They’re dropped by the square where the La Scala opera house is. The great, white Georgian marble block that it is. Every lamppost here drips guild. The tiles in the road shimmer like a sea of copper pennies off the light. Liquid measure haze of orange bronze eaten up into their steps as they cross the square.

 

He tucked her arm in his. Eyes turn sharp to strangers when a wolf whistle is aimed her way. She gets closer to his body when they do. Ignores the crude calls chasing after them.

 

He can’t deny - he’d stare at her too. If all this Prada beauty in her dress passed him by. They can look on in jealousy all they like. They can covet her and cat-call like prehistoric beasts. Like a whistle of ill-mannered flattery was all it took to beckon her.

 

Only _he_ gets to have her in all the best and secret ways. Carnal deeds that belong to them like they’re the only two people who’ve ever belonged to each other before. His whole being manacled to her and if he’s doomed to drown himself in her? _So be it._

In great catastrophic odes to her, he’s a moth to a tapering endless candle. A bee to a thick thick drip, of a flower cup cradling honey-pollen.

 

He weaves his fingers tighter through her own and gets her through the opera house doors. The golden glass of the huge arched thing, mirrors the nightlife that chatters and smokes and blazes behind them. The air cloys hot and damp.

 

She moves so demure in that dress. Still uncertain. It makes his libido rage to see. She looks like walking beauty and she’s still unsure. He’d try and show her all the ways tonight how she’s an opus of magnificence that he doesn’t deserve to worship. But he _will_.

 

She’ll let him. She’ll beg for him til her lips crack and run dry. And that sweet voice turns to ash in her throat.

 

He’ll make a beggar out of her tonight. It’s his way. It’s also the only fair compensation for the way she’s wrapped his rotten heart around her little finger like coiling satin-coal ribbon. In his raw, sweat-soaked, unyielding fucking, he’ll pierce her deep with bare unforgiving pleasure and smirk at her when she wails for him. Clashing teeth and ripe lips and digging fingers, raw deep and stabbing, in his toughened skin.

 

He gives their tickets to the porter and they’re ushered up to a box with complimentary champagne to follow. She physically has the breath shunted out her chest - like a clenched fist choking out her lungs - when the curtain to their box is swept aside.

 

It’s violent and decadent Italian. As he’d said; crimson was the law. She sees that here. In this pretty edifice. This hallowed hall the colour of gold coin and blush of blood and ancient bone.

 

She’s seen pictures and opera houses in movies or glossy sheen of them printed in magazines. Seeing it for real is beyond the measures of exquisite. It’s red and gold decadence. So dark and bruising scarlet it feels like velvet stroking at her eyes.

 

Their box is high high up. Way up. Centred right by the stage in giddy gold heaven. Dizzy high. That would explain the many many red-sponged carpet steps they were led up to get here. Climbing up Jacobs shining ladder. Halls raining down pearls of chandeliers, and carved swirls of marble. It feels like a biblical-worthy ascension.

 

Her knees tremble at the grandeur of their atmosphere. The gaping garnet mouth of the stage drips fringe in gold tassel. Emblem of the opera house stands metres high and proud on the gathered show curtain. The walls along the balconies are yellowed ivory that’s at its incandescent best with every golden light. The drown of crushing red spilled down, way down below, In the stalls. Chairs there circle back like dull half moon scales.

 

Evie dares a vertiginous glance at the ivory-ammonite and gold baroque trim of the ceiling. So big and cresting and vast. Crashing waves stilled on beige sands. Like a field of sun baked wheat curling and lashing as far as the eye can see. She’s staring. She knows she’s staring. Her mouth is gaped open - and she justifies it so utterly that this palace of a theatre is a place _worth_ gawking at.

 

Kylo overtips the Porter - and eases himself into their crushed velvet seat to pour them some Franciacorta Brut. Tips the racing green bottle by the tulip orange foil label at the neck and fizzes their compliment into two marquis crystal coupe glasses. The rims of them circled too, in hay gold.

 

“Have a drink, Kitten” he encourages. If she leaned any further out to look at the ceiling. He’ll have to snatch her back by her skirts so as she doesn’t tip right on over the edge.

 

She glides to her seat she takes the chilled glass off him. Brut bubbles spit up her wrist. She’s mesmerised. Sunshine gold flecked off her navy sea eyes.

 

“This is incredible.” She shakes her head. Eyes wide with wonder and appreciation.

 

She makes him reconsider things. He has a very set view of the world. Cemented version. His clinical carve of it all. But every now and then she’ll stop and point out the beauty in something he would’ve seen ten million times over. Sunshine caught on wild flower petals. Or the way rain beads on a filmy quaking spiders web. How humble a sound it is to hear an owl in the forest at night, crooning it’s song.

 

It makes him stop and look too. And he finds a newfound virtue and simplicity, the same way she does, in appreciating the little things his mind glosses over or shunts out.

 

He flickers his gaze up to the ceiling. One he’d sat under countless times. He’s watched operas, plays, ballets in here before. Only now does he reappraise the faded mustard elegance of this old relic. She really astounds him like that, sometimes. In the best ways.

 

He reaches over and cups her hand. Her red Prada patent purse lay crooked in her lap and he likes how the Harry Winston on her neck chimes true with the red-gold in this place. She glimmers with it. Eyes still darting all over. Drinking it in as she sips on her Brut.

 

He hands her a program just before the lights flicker. The performance nearing. Curtain twitching. Orchestra pulsing to life with practice notes below them. She scoots her chair right up close to the balcony. Leans over the edge with the silver Galilean binoculars that had been socketed into the pouch on her seat.

 

“Judging by the dark poster I’m in for a very violent first experience of opera?” She asks him. He curls that smirk slightly. Licking champagne drips off his lips.

 

“The music will get you more than any of the acting. It’s what opera’s all about.” He warns. She looks into his face as the lights dim all around them.

 

She’s stuck on his eyes, watching the slick white wet of them glitter sticky at her. Along with the sharpness of his handsome smile. Polluted in darkness. Those big kissable lips and that air of seduction that tangled in her senses. Its beating off him like rainfall off hot concrete. It’s sickly dizzy and dark and it’s making her thighs clench.

 

That look alone. The one that usually meant he’s getting her on her back real soon, and having his wicked way. His strong tongue or big fingers worming between her thighs. Flickering inside her. How his cock splits her pussy with each long practice of fulfilling even strokes.

 

_Oh_ she’s so stuck-in-love-lust on him. It’s inhuman.

 

She does manage to tear her eyes away as thundering drums start to swell, bloating up. Violins soar. Notes chirp and flutter and then swarm and then it builds up and up and blossoms, shatters. A dark voice - basso profundo - begins to boom loud Italian and throaty. Strident.

 

Evie’s so swept up she struggles remembering to breathe. Kylo watches her. She gasps at the actions. Her brow tugs with the wrestling emotion of it all in the sharp bits. She winces and aches and follows every word so emotively it leaves him watching her keenly. The pearled light that shimmers off the globes of her rounded soft tits that spill and rise out her strict dress when she gasps tight at some scenes or a sudden surge in the music.

 

The same glimmer of pearl catches her shoulders and the side of her face. It’s the light from the stage, and it paints slithers at her skin so beautifully. Catching on the round socket bone of her shoulders. On the smooth of her upper arm. Highlights the tucked away violet love-bite he sucked on her neck last night. Hidden in the shade below her ear. His pendant, the cool slip of weightless silver and fat diamonds, sparkles at her collarbone.

 

Maybe he’s insane - staring at her like this. Obsessed. Adoring her so happy drinking in this opera like shes gorging herself on fine wine.

 

If this perfect ache is what love is at last? He’ll take it.

 

She sighs in anticipation for more, when the curtain comes down for intermission.

 

She turns her head back to him. Catching her breath. “That was... amazing...” she blurts out. Completely boggled. Feeling like she needs to take a few moments to float back to reality. Down to earth.

 

She loves that essence to books or music or theatre. Things wielding such show and emotion, it grabs and hooks at you with both hands. Completely submerging and stealing you away. Making you drift in it’s spell binding haze. Spitting you out from it’s majesty back into the crudeness of actuality, when it’s over.

 

He was right - everything about it had black-hole-void sucked her in. Kept her pinned. She loves it. It was brutal and very Italian and political. Broke her heart three times over as she sat there. Inhaling at the lovers choice. And the will of the corrupt.

 

“Wanna go to the bar?” He asks her. Take her off for a walk, stretch her legs, or a glass of wine, or to get some air or something to eat before the next half.

 

He’d planned to take her to an expensive little bistro just across the square when they were done. It was a nice night. They had a rooftop terrace.

 

Red rose vines around the balcony. Made ochre by candlelight. The table cloths were cheap checkered red white linen and the bistro was punishingly Italian. Empty wine bottles with bleeding dribbling wax candles. Breadsticks fanned in a wine glass at the table. Pavarotti playing. But the food really was simple and excellent. Kylo was amazed it wasn’t more expensive. The wine wasn’t the best but he loved that. It didn’t try and pretend it was.

 

She smiles a ‘yes’ to a chance to stretch her legs. They walk out the box, and start down the busy marble stair hallways. The crowds filtering out for the interval. The weave through them going for the lounge that catered to the guests in the boxes.

 

The bar is situated in an arched balcony of glass windows that overlooks the piazza at the front of the opera house. Crimson thick carpet treads underfoot here too and its as intricate and elegant as the rest of this palace of art. Slender flutes of overflowing flowers and ivy stand on either end of the panelled pine wood bar. A pianist plays Chopin on the grand piano in the corner. Air smells like crushed peonies and freesias.

 

Kylo sits her near a low little table, flanked by two velvet shell chairs. She says she’ll buy the drinks. Kylo kisses her hand. Goes to the restroom real quick. She gets them some light antipasto too - Apple green nocerella olives, Grecian figs, salami ham and honey-sugar pistachios. Something to wash down with the citrus crush of wine. Sharp crisp snap of fruity white for her and a sumptuous velvet red for him.

 

She carries their drinks to her table with her Prada tucked under her arm.

 

Unable to resist she takes a few snaps on her phone to send to Flo. Pinches one of the olives. The herby-tang of it briny bitter in her mouth with a hint of soft lemon. The sweet burst of it soft on her tongue and excellent with the flavour of the wine.

 

She’s texting Flo and Cally the pictures of the opera house. Sat there on her phone with her legs crossed, lounging in the velvet deco-shell chair. Amazed her heels weren’t crushing her feet in yet. They were surprisingly comfortable. Patent leather soft like butter.

 

Cool shade passes over the table. A gust of unfamiliar cologne drifts over her and suddenly the chair opposite her is occupied.

 

She raises her eyes and there’s a dark haired, respectably handsome guy in a tux opposite her. Triangle broad jaw. Flecked with Short styled sweep of chestnut hair. His eyes are robin egg blue. He’s pretty in the most conventional chiseled jaw sense. Evie can’t deny that. But she’s _very_ not interested in any other men.

 

“You enjoying the show?” He asks her. Leaning in. American. Looking rather too interested in the way her knees peek out the slit in her dress. Evie doesn’t like the way he relaxes back in the chair like it’s his. Far too self-assured. Full up of it.

 

Smile too bright cosmetic white and linear square teeth.

 

Even though he isn’t wanted - she won’t be rude. “Uh-yes. It’s my first opera. I’m enjoying it very much.” She offers. Not giving him a lot to take. She keeps her wine and her phone in her hand. Shuffled back fidgeting in the chair a little.

 

“Not bad opera to see for the first time...” He declares. “Won’t do it any better than in Italy.”

 

“You’re right there.” She gives him.

 

“I’m Marcus Reynold by the way. Pleasure to meet you...” He flatters. Leaning over to shake her hand. Her stomach snaps and curdles when he kisses her hand. Real slow savouring it.

 

She knows what he wants - and it wasn’t a polite enquiry about the show. Or a quiet drink.

 

“Pleasure.” She smiles but not truly. Snatching back her hand. His sticky lips still lingered it’s press on her hand. Made her feel wrong.

 

“I don’t mean to be rude but my boyfriend will be coming back soon-so...” she trails off. Leaving the rude insinuation to him.

 

He doesn’t move a muscle. In fact his smile grows. “Oh yeah?” He asks. Relishing the challenge. “He a nice guy?” He seeks.

 

She swallows. “Yes. He is.” She remarks flatly. Her red matte smile pinching at the corners.

 

_Not to you, however,_ she thinks. 

 

He only grins that excruciatingly white smile all the wider. “He’s a lucky fucking bastard if he’s going home with you tonight in that sexy dress.” He drawls. Eyeing her up again. His glance prickles pins at her legs where he’s all but drooling over her.

 

“Can’t I convince you to ditch him and get off with me instead?” He laughs. Joking in the least funny sense she can think of. His eyes gleam too much. With lust or drink. She doesn’t know which. It’s plainly pathetic the way he’s chasing doggedly after something he’ll never get.

 

“Sadly not.” She says with a huge heap of sarcasm. She stands her wine down. Leans forwards in her seat. His gaze sticks to the way her cleavage spills forward in the strapless bodice.

 

“Well. If you get bored of your boyfriend...” he slips a business card across the table. Sits the insulting thing right next to Kylo’s wine. Catches her hand on the glass stem when she stood her drink down. Flickers a touch across her fingers. She fights the urge to flinch away and knock her wine all over her lap.

 

“I’m staying at the VIU. Suite 63. Me and my friends are having a little party there later. You should come. Leave the boyfriend behind. I’ll see to it you have a _great_ time.” He flirts. Has the temerity to wink at her.

 

“How generous of you.” Kylo growls from behind him.

 

Evie glances up behind the overly-confident American to find a very seething Kylo behind him. Onyx daggers for eyes slicing up the moron. His jaw felt tighter than marble. Displeasure and blood-frothing rage beating off him like sweat. One hand in his pocket the other clenched into a cracking white fist. Nails biting his palm like little white half moons.

 

He’d been waylaid after coming back from the restroom. A wealthy Italian man recognised him - struck up a conversation about his work. Hiring R&R enterprises for his new hotel chain. Kylo politely gabled business and left him his card. He stepped back into the bar and suddenly his world flipped over.

 

“You’re the boyfriend?” Douchebag smiles all pally. That makes it worse- the gnawing blood lusting animal of Kylo’s barely restrained temper bays for dark awful things.

 

Kylo’s wanting to rip his throat out. With his _teeth_. He’s touched her. He’s made her uncomfortable.

 

“If you don’t fucking disappear from my sight within the next five seconds. I’ll take your eyes out their sockets for the way you’ve been looking at my girl.” He alerts coolly.

 

No veiled threats. Kylo doesn’t do subtle. He’ll always tell people how he’ll pick them apart - debone them, seperate them  from the meat and tissue of their organs - if they ever hurt the things he loves.

 

She likes how the flirty idiot draws back - suddenly not so sanguine - with seeing the square width of Kylo’s impressive shoulders. And the bulging muscles not disguised in his tux. The scar and tattoos helped deposit more dangerous undertones into the fear he rightfully instilled in the hearts of foolish men.

 

Evie could kiss him. Especially with the way Marcus bolts from his seat as if it blistered his skin. “Have a nice night.” He smiles wobbly to her. Sweating already. Doing up his tux jacket and slinking away - fast to the bar with his tail between his legs.

 

He switches his eyes to her. There’s still some dark blackness lingering. Not anger. Not at her. _Never_ for her. Only at his protective nature for her. He’s swallowed up with something else now. It’s sucked him down, way down deep, and shut the lid tight. _Lust_.

 

His furious eyes land on the square of card baring the idiots name - left nearby her on the table. She senses he’ll want to take her back to the box.

 

She rises to a stand and picks up her purse. She goes to slide her hand into his. Meet his eyes. Flush some of that briny ocean blue calmness into his stormy gaze. Dilute the rage.

 

As soon as she cups his hand. Pandora’s box snaps open and floods the world. Black smoke poison pollutes the air of his once clear mind.

 

He takes that dear sweet hand of hers in his crushing brute iron grip. And he’s walking her off some place. To where- he doesn’t even know. He just needs movements. Needs clarity. Needs-

 

_Needs a room with a fucking lock on the door._

 

He finds one. It’s technically a restroom but the fog is clouding and the blinders are fixed on. He tugs her inside and doesn’t care who sees them both go in here.

 

It’s unused. Off down a tucked away hall. Red and maroon striped wallpaper. Marble twin sink. Marble floor. Two black toilet stalls. Ornamental vase of exotic flowers by the gilded mirror. Pot-pourri speckled in a glass Bon Bon jar. The air tastes chemical lemon and sweet fold of rose petals.

 

He nearly breaks her back the way he shoves her to the wall by the door.

 

Right inside it. No time to lose. He snaps the lock shut. But in the mood he’s in, someone could wander in and he wouldn’t even stop mid-thrust as he’s fucking her. He wouldn’t even do much as turn his head from where he’s ploughing into her pussy. He’d snap or bare his teeth.

 

His hot dangerous mouth is cruelly slanted on hers. Harshly sucking kisses. Smearing her lipstick to make her mouth look like a raw red wound. His mouth smudged red too. He sucks her mouth in violence. Tasting how the Sauvignon grape crushed its sting on her tongue. He licks it off. Every drop.

 

He tugs her purse out her hands, hurls it to the floor. Shattered glass moans tumble from her mouth. Crashes in his throat. She can barely grab on. Her back is slipping against cold red wallpaper. Shoulders bruised from the force of how he shoved her against the wall.

 

His hands have her ass, and her thighs. Hoisted to his waist. He’s fighting so hard to find her legs through the fabric - he’s angry with it. Jerking hands. Angry with this bullseye red dress for getting in his way. Livid with that limp-dick fucker for flirting with his Evie, like she’s a foppish young cocktail waitress -

 

And finally, most pressingly of all, he’s so so _so_ livid with the way she makes his cock fill out so hard, so quick. Blood rushes, bittersweet autumn, into his temples. Pounding and snapping his impatient veins.

 

She’s raking her fingers and pain, to lace through his hair as she yanks on the strands, but that’s the only way she can hold on to her man spinning out of sanity. He gets her dress tucked up. Rucks it to crinkle up over her hips. Hand desperately palming her cunt, slips below the gossamer of her underwear. Finds the sticky satin of her with his fingers. Barely gathering between hot innocent thighs with how little notice he gave for this.

 

He makes it more - kisses her and loses two thick fingers up in her. Swirls them at her pussy. Listens how the slick sticks and drips. Violent loud in the air like bursting fireworks. He wants her juicy pink and fucked open for him. He’s harsh with the way he jabs at her. He knows her aching spots well enough by now.

 

“That feel good huh? That what my kitten likes?” He asks her. Grit teeth against her mouth. Nibbling her lower lip. Sucking the citrus plume of wine away.

 

She’s close to crying bliss already. “Yes-Kylo-oh _yes_. I like it.” She confirms. Hiccuping broken. Sweeter than syrupy thick molasses.

 

She mewls and whimpers loud for him. He fucks her faster with his fingers to get more noise. Makes her cunt pour. His hard fingers and knuckles crushing to the soft mound at the top of her cunt with each thrusting press.

 

He cages her to the wall as he frees himself from his tux. Hand loveless with callous motions. Rips open his flies. Fists his hard cock. He tears fingers from her too brutal - shoves the messy digits in her mouth - makes her taste herself and her tulip lipstick. She hums a moan around his hand.

 

At the same time, he’s ramming his cock right into her. Pressing aside her underwear. Not sparing the time to even rip it off.

 

She bites on his fingers without meaning too. He watches her face crumple and brow crease with the sheer weight of his cock as it gapes her open. Stretching wide to slam right in. Hips apart. Thighs drenched. She’s so slapping wet he feels her dribble down the front of his tux. The liquid snap of their hips meeting is a great token of a reward.

 

He takes his fingers from her mouth. She loops one arm around his neck. Her lips wet with spit and he tastes her. Sucking tongue plundering her hot mouth again. Fucks faster, gets harder, with how she tastes like pussy, lipstick, and wine. The first taste he knows so well off by heart - it’s like perfume to him by now. He happily wears that scent of hers all over his body.

 

She’s just gasping out yes. Into the pit of his hungry mouth. He kisses her cheeks. Fists her neck tight with a free hand. Only one holding her all up to fuck her. She’s pressed tight to the wall. Back sweating. Heels dagger at his back. And he wants to slip that straining bodice down over her tits to taste the sweat and eau de parfum dripped on her nipples.

 

“You love it when I fuck you like this.” He states. All monster and harsh and barely any heart at all. Fucks her like he doesn’t love her - as if he doesn’t even _like_ her.

 

She can barely whisper with the crushed throat but she tries. “Yesyes.” She sobs into his mauling of a kiss.

 

“Say it.” He ordered. “Say that you’re mine.” He demands. Her pulse beating his lips where he sucks at the kicking thing. They’re thumping and groaning so hard she hears how they knock the walls. Anyone walking by will hear - maybe that’s what he intends.

 

“I’m yours. I’m here. It’s ok.” She tries to soothe his ugly ragged temper. Knowing this is stemming from a psychosis about her safety.

 

He puffs pants against her neck. Shoving his nose behind her ear. “I wanted to fucking choke him.” He bursts out. Angry. Hand leaving her throat. Slamming to the wall. His bones rang with it. Evie swore she felt the wallpaper blister and crackle.

 

“I wanted to kill him. Kick his stupid teeth down his neck and rip his arms off his torso and bleed him dry.” He snarls. Hips ploughing fast. So quick the force and speed of him chokes her. It’s bliss and too much and he’s forcing himself right to the bottom of her and it’s crushing. Constricting his cock like a wrapping boa. Tight. Drooling. Perfect pussy. Sloppy crude. Heaving into her like a man possessed.

 

That’s cause he fucking is. He’s the damn Antichrist if that’s true.

 

“Kylo.” She pleads. Tugging on his hair. Crying for him. He holds her thighs where they’re wrapped around him. Grinds and fucks like it’ll be the end of him when he cums. Splitting her cunt open and pouring inside.

 

Her hair clips raking the wallpaper where her skull slaps back to it. The lights flicker too. Shorting out.

 

He licks the sweat from her shoulder. “I’m _here_. I’m right fucking here.” Hand sneaks between crumpling clothes to find her rubbed-raw clit. Pinching and swirling it.

 

“-right fucking here kitten. And you’re gonna cum, here, into my hand, and all over my dick.” He commands. Grabs her thighs and pulls even closer. Sinking that last vital inch.

 

Silky pink head of his cock brushes something that shatters her. She screams into his tux shoulder and tenses so hard her bones tremble and ache. Cumming and cumming and cumming. Bursting with it. Body fluttering on his cock.

 

He joins her. Nails raking blood on his neck. His teeth buried deep in her shoulder and his cock buried so deep in her body it shouldn’t be allowed to hit spots that feel _that_ sinfully good.

 

He thrusts until the very last shred of pleasure and rage leaves his system. Huffs against her ear. Sets her down when he’s been clutching his clawed hands into her. Sense filtering back into his head. He can feel it sloshing in as their orgasms recede like a hungry foaming tide leaving the beach.

 

He sags them into the wall. Bracketing her in the corner. Cock still rammed inside her. Legs draping his hips. Slipping down to his thighs. Still hooked onto him. He smoothed his hands over her ass and thighs. Listens to the material skim his palms.

 

“Fuck-I’m sorry.” He pants into her shoulder. Palming at her even messier hair. She holds his back. Blinking back to life as hot rough sex had bleached colour and sound and importance off everything. Now it’s swimming back.

 

“Sorry?” She asks what for.

 

“I shouldn’t have-“ He swallows. Throat jerks. Hiding his ducking head in the crook of her neck.

 

_Not like that._

 

Nuzzles a peck at her necklace. “Shouldn’t have done it like that. I just got so livid hearing him come onto you that way.”

 

“It’s alright. He was nothing more than a cocky idiot, Kylo.” She tells him openly. He growls all grumpy.

 

“He made you uncomfortable. I _hate_ that.” He warns.

 

“He’s not important. And I _think_ \- you scared him off.” She hushed back. The man practically threw his back out running away.

 

“He tried to take you from me.” He grunts.

_Ah_.  _There it is._

_“_ He didn’t.” She promises. Loud and true. Voice wilful. “I’m right here.”

 

She hooked around him tighter. Limbs wrap and crush stronger. Reminding him. She plants her face next to his. Almost cheek to cheek. Feeling his scar abrade her face. Bodies crushed together. Always together. Never apart. 

 

In their quest for privacy, they’d forgotten about the opera. Which is now booming and blaring the second half so loud it rattles at the dense walls. Crumbling them with sound.

 

He so desperately wants to pull out and admire the way her sticky cream coats his shiny cock in this mouldy red half light. But she’s warm and wet and welcoming. He won’t move just yet.

 

“I think we’ve missed a bit.” She winces. Kisses the side of his nose. Toes curl and flex in her heels.

 

She’s liking how sweat pearls off his high pale brow and his eyes are back to a visage of a clear night sky again. Back to calm. She ruffles that handsome head of hair.

 

“Sneak back to our seats or get the fuck outta here?” He smiles. She smiles too. And then smooches him really slow and nice.

 

He manages to finger her to yet another orgasm on the ride home, in the back of the Maserati.

 

Quite enough Opera for one evening. And he’s decided it’s _her_ turn to do the high aria’s now. _Much prettier voice._

 

 

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love formal Kylo dressy sex in case that was unclear 💕 oh and opera and be patient I haven’t combed this for typos yet but I will tomorrow (lol it’s 3am here and I need zzzz’s)


	53. Be Anything & Darling Be Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo’s being the usual grouchy bear he is and I love it ok 💕
> 
> Just more fluff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s being kissed awake. 

 

Minty plush lips teasing her sleepy lips. Not caring about the sour-fuzz of morning breath coated on her teeth. She makes soft little whimpering sounds onto his. Being pulled into waking up by the cosy intrusion of his perfect plush mouth.

 

Her neck feels bitten-sore. Her hair is wild. And she’s naked, love-bruised, and tangled up in bedsheets that crumple low down the divot of her back. She peeks open misty eyes. Shifts her hips. There’s a pillow under one knee, and another slanted under her head. She half twisted flat onto it. Arms laying square to each side of her head. She nuzzles the cotton pillow and looks up.

 

The bedroom is foggy white until her eyes focus. The bifold doors are open, breeze casting gentle along her bare arms. Air laden with the thick of distant clanging church bells, busy roads and zipping mopeds. Italy in all its loud glory filters up from the road down below. Sunshine pools at her feet through the gauzy moth wing of the white bedsheets. They went to bed too sticky and hot last night for any heavier covers.

 

Kylo’s smiling at her. Sat on the matress, watching her snuggling awake. His sleepy-fucked-out Kitten. He reaches over and plucks the snowy fluff of arrowhead shaped goose feather out the drift of her tumbled hair. 

 

They’d fucked so good last night, after the opera, she’d soaked the sheets. And her fingers tore open one of the plump pillows. Feathers scattered across the bed. On the floor. Stirred in the air. Drift lazy across the floor when he moved. He’d crushed the soft things underfoot when he got up.

 

He’d wanted to commit that pretty sight to memory. Her autumn-spice red nails on a ice plump bed full of spilled white feathers. Made him cum way too fucking quick. 

 

He had to flip her over last night, and eat her out for an hour til she came all messy again. Then he fingered her and fucked her and loved her and pleasured her and he didn’t stop until sunrise crept close. Just two meagre hours away.

 

Her hazy eyes find him. Through mussed hair and squinting at the brightness of their sunny bedroom. She stretches out, unfurling sleepy limbs and combing feather-studded hair out her face. Pushing it back behind her ears. Mumbling and groaning as she snuggled awake. Clicking out her hips and back as her body uncurls into that slender long shape.

 

“Hi.” He smiles down at her. Freeing yet another feather from her hair. He combed all his out in the shower. He’s up and dressed and suited. Ready for his meeting in an hour. Black trousers and dress shoes. Omega watch silver and proud on his wrist. A whisper-grey Maison Kitsuné shirt on. Not a crease in sight.

 

“Hi.” She croaks back. Ghost of a smeared lipstick smile still staining her lips. Eye makeup slightly bleeding under her eyes. He hadn’t given her even a chance to get that makeup off last night. No way.

 

He had her on that bed, not even half unzipped out her Prada gown, pumps still on, and he’d shimmed it down her chest, just enough to have her tits spill out. He’d then buried his cock deep in her again. As he buried his mouth in biting and sucking her nipples. Tasting the perfume dripped on them.

 

“Did I oversleep?” She asks. Her voice still foggy. Sitting up, and leaning over for a kiss. He swoops down and gives it to her. He tastes like coffee and toothpaste. He kisses her enthusiastically. Always does. Even if she’s still got morning breath.

 

“No. Just my meeting is in an hour and I didn’t want to leave you snoozing all that time.” He explains.

 

Subtext of his words being; _I like seeing you and talking to you in the mornings._

 

Evie smiles.

 

He’d already told her yesterday that he was having a few associates up here in their suite for the meeting. It did have a conference room after all. The hotel was providing excellent coffee and pastries.

 

Eduardo assures Kylo it would be taken care of down to the last detail - he was right. There was a whole bevy of people in there now cleaning the spotless place and putting fresh cut freesias, calla lilies, and tulips in vases for them. Pure hand crafted excellence.

 

Kylo was up hours ago - sat preparing early in the suite lounge- going over notes and presentation slides. Sipping his triple espresso, reading the imported Wall Street journal. He was shaved, dressed and cologned. All ready. Couldn’t resist sneaking back into the bedroom to wake up his Evie.

 

She cuddles up into his chest. Careful not to spoil his perfectly pressed shirt. “I’ll get myself in the shower.” She confirms. Had to wash off yesterday from her skin. And her face. “Get out your way for an hour or two.”

 

He doesn’t want that. _Of course he doesn’t._

 

“I had breakfast brought up for you, when you want it.” He kisses into her hairline. Not pulling his mouth away from her skin. She tastes like faded perfume and he can smell the sweat in her hair. The almost-cosy-musk of it.

 

She tilts her head toward the window, eyelashes flutter in the sun. Morning light splashed up her face. Diluted through the gossamer wisp of the white curtains. How it shimmers golden in the Italian sunshine. She can hear the birdsong as they sweep overhead in the robin egg blue of the sky. The peel of church bells reeling out.

 

“I’ll go on the terrace. Read for a bit.” She decides. Laying a plushy sweet kiss to his cheek. Cushion of her lips lands right on the scarred plane of it.

 

He tucks his hand under the bedsheets. Slips between hot skin and warm cotton. Follows the curve of her hip and cups it. Kissing her smeared lips full on. So close his nose nudges into her. She nuzzles it with a kiss when he pulls back. He shuts his eyes - smiles. Feeling her pepper his face with kisses.

 

“I’ll come find you when I’m done with work.” He tells her. _Promises_ her. She knows he’s not kidding.

 

“Okay.” She breezes. Smiling even more - simply because he’s the first thing she wants to always see in the morning when he wakes up.

 

He kisses her again for being so compliant with everything. He wonders if that’ll ever stop - then again, whose he kidding, that’s _who_ she is. Not a doormat. Never that. But hopelessly buoyant and fairly optimistic with everything that goes on around her. She honestly is his little silver-lining-champion.

 

He stays sat on the bed and she wriggles out the sheets around him. Gathers them around herself. A big gust of feathers follows her when she moves. She blushes a little when she sees it. Kylo’s smirking at the way the wispy things drift across the floor in her wake. Lapping at her red-spice painted toes.

 

“I’ll tell the maid we need a couple more pillows.” He smarts. “And some new sheets.” His voice is husky playful and she’s blushing more rosy because of it.

 

She walks softly back to him. Her sheet toga rasping on the floor. She’s grasping it around herself and he likes that the clever clever sunshine makes it transparent so he can see the shape of her underneath. Dark sweet heavenly place between her legs. The stiff of her coral nipples. He sits there on the feather-dusted bed and admires her. She hooks a hand to his shoulder. He takes her hips and holds them.

 

“I feel so guilty for wrecking it. Probably costs more than I earn in a month.” She bites her lip in thought. He takes her hand now. Holds it. Kissing the inside of her wrist where she’s got her arms outstretched to him.

 

“I wouldn’t go worrying about it. I’d say it was worth it.” He smirks up at her. Referring to their scorching night in bed.

 

“You’re so bad.” She blushes again. Leaking across and kissing his brow. She’d be seven shades of scarlet if she had to stand there and confess to the lovely hotel maid that they’re having such incendiary sex, they’ve started to shred the bedding.

 

He’ll say it to them. Stood there grinning like a sauve god. Not caring one bit. _He’d fucking smirk._ No shame. Shame doesn’t stick to Kylo. It beads off him like water off a ducks back. Ironically, something a little alike the goose feathers that now decorate the bedroom like wisping white confetti. Reminders to them of pleasures past.

 

She heads for the shower. Feathers stuck at odd angles out the back her matted head.

 

He resists the urge to swerve his heel down hard on her trailing white train to snatch it off and get her all naked again. Instead he eyes the love-bites hiding under tangled hair. Splotches of flowering petals of purple and green dotted like islands around her neck and shoulders - he couldn’t resist her perfume after all - nor the way she gasps when his teeth sting her skin.

 

He listens to thick glass shower door rattle shut. Water patting against the Marlborough tiles. He can picture her now. Hair all pasted wet and dark. Skin slippery with soap. French lavender. That thick oatmeal and simple spice of it settling behind the backs of her knees. Living in the crease between her cleft and her pussy and her inner thighs.

 

She burns bright with it when he eats her out. It’s like stumbling through the French lavender fields of Valensole.

 

He loves it. It’s a whole part of the sensory experience. Kissing with his rough-hewn lips between her lavender scented thighs. So innocent there. Baby-skin-soft too. Like butter that melts for him. He loves feeling that softness clamp his ears or his head. 

 

She makes him think of innocent things like floods of white bridal bouquets. Crushing peony petals with a honey core. An ivory dove’s feathers. The calming angel to his baying demons.

 

He gets up off the bed and goes to check he’s got everything work related he needs for his meeting. Shuffling through paperwork and sipping more coffee in the lounge when she resurfaces from her shower.

 

He smells her first. A gorgeous drift of floral on the air is what catches him straight away. Her velvety body oil from that scrub she uses. Her custom Floris perfume all jasmine and blossom botanical croons across the room at him. 

 

She’s wearing white too. A simple button up linen type dress with tortoiseshell buttons and a cord belt tied at her middle. Her drying hair is wound up into a clip in a low bun. Her face is shiny and patted pink from the towel and the waters heat. She’d smeared on face cream and that sticky citrus oil. Her cheeks now glimmer with it.

 

There’s a book in her hands and she’s barefoot. He’s got his reading glasses on, going over some figures. Sat at their humongous empty dining table. She pads silent across the carpet - holding onto her worn blue and gold leather copy of the Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott.

 

She strings her arms around his neck and kisses him. The book batters his shoulder blades but he doesn’t feel it. He only feels her lips. He tugs her lose for more when she tried to pull back. Not releasing her out the kiss that he deepens. Draws her close. Clutches at her plump little butt that he takes in both hands. He _feels_ her smile, cheeks creasing up, and her face pressed so to his, leaves sticky smears of her face oil on his skin.

 

When she pulls away to gasp for breath she rubs the oil into his skin with her thumb. Has to have him presentable.

 

“I’d give my good drawing arm to get you back in that bed right now.” He growls as he’s kissing her collarbone. He nibbles on it with slight sting of teeth. To let her know he’s not happy about having to work when they could be putting his time to _far_ better use.

 

“It’s not for long.”

 

“It’s for _far_ too long.” He disagrees all in a grouchy mumble.

 

“It’s for work.” She gently reminds.

 

He undoes a button. Sucks rosy-red at the skin he unveils. “I’ll quit.” He grouched petulantly.

 

“You’re the big boss. You _can’t_ quit.” She indulges his whining. Looks down at him. He frowns. Ink hair tangled in those big flecks of slate-grey granite he had for eyes. He still looks annoyed. He grumbles some more.

 

She pecks his brow with a kiss and steps back. “Have a good meeting. I’ll be on the terrace with my book and a pot of earl grey and I will see you...” She takes his moody chin and kisses him again. “When you’re done.” She pledges. She turns away and he snatches a wet kiss at her shoulder.

 

Watches her walk through the bedroom. Admired how the sunshine blotted gently through her white skirts, shading her legs as she moved. Off she goes. Taking her perfume and all her sweet _sweet_ kisses with her.

 

His business associates arrive almost immediately after she leaves. A group of businessmen, dressed like him in fine suits and all prim and polished. Ready to talk business over coffee, and breakfast. And it goes well. They manage to broker a new deal for his business team. Which is what he hoped. He’d been keeping his options open for his head residential architect with some renowned big _big_ names in the industry over here. And now he’d got backing for his team - it was good. Successful.

 

He sees them off to the elevator doors, and he’s out on that terrace like a shot.

 

He steps out into the sunshine. Shoes clacking on the fine roof tiles. Watching at the sunshine naked red rust of Milan’s skyline. Some of the modern skyscrapers tower high above the city. The old melding with the new. 

 

Duomo domes ancient and renowned -crumbling artefacts next to the cutting and brutal glass steel edifices of modernity. Colours juxtapose too. Terracotta red of renaissance and then theres the blue cool glass of industry. Kylo wonders if they work side by side. As much of a champion of modern as he was, it seems an odd mix to him. A skyline as classic as the ones Italy possesses, and it’s like a stubby broken-teeth jawbone with those buildings jutting out the horizon, like jagged festering black teeth.

 

The St Giles blue of the sky is smoother than sand-worn pebble. Cloudless and clear. The sun governs it fiercely. Heat beating down. Barely buffeted by a cool breeze that batters the treetops and chimneys. Blazing sun that bleached whites, and airs soapy wet washing pegged out on the tiny italian streets and alleys. 

 

Kylo steps across the terrace to round the hidden private corner. A big white-double bed of a lounger is in front of one ivy smeared wall, plants and palms fill out big plant pots surrounding a grubby-bone coloured wall fountain socketed into the vast tangling clump of ivy.

 

A ribbed half-moon basin captures trickling water from a spouting Cupid’s pouting mouth. The head of it at the wall is arched and carved. A decoration of ancient Italian craftsmanship. The soft trickle of water melds with the sounds and blares of Italian traffic. Palm fronds and ficus’s clash into each other from their places in white marble pots.

 

He makes out her legs posed all dainty and still in the sun. Daisy petal coloured skirts fluttering. His eyes sweep up and he smiles when he takes in the rest of her. 

 

She’s asleep.

 

Apparently he’s worn out his little sex kitten with red dresses and sultry nights out at the opera, brimming with too much golden champagne.

 

Empty teacup cupped dainty in its saucer on the side table. Pastry half nibbled away on its plate. Her book is sloped slanted off by her tummy. Spilling onto the chesterfield button chaise. Pages wafting in the breeze. She’s twisted so her hips are flat to the frost-white lounger, but her upper half is turned towards the sun. Basking. Dozing in it.

 

Dozing in the light that pools and splashed across her resting pretty face. Shade of her lashes are half moon spiders legs on her cresting cheek. One arm folded over herself, laying quaintly on her tummy. Red nails standing out stark on her white dress. One arm with a barely open hand curled up by her cheek. Palm turned skyward.

 

Flyaway hairs swipe across her lips. A ghosting sway of a touch. He wants to kiss at the place that lucky hair is drifting across. He comes closer. Watching her rest in the rare warm of European spring sunshine. She looks contented. Lazy happy. He hopes she is. He partly knows she is.

 

He sets himself to sit near her feet. Curls his big hand to the shape of her calf and feels the plane of her stiff shin. Skin still a little tacky from whatever lotion she’d rubbed into her legs. His thumb swipes the nobbled circular of her kneecap. He softly talks to her.

 

“Kitten?” He croons. Voice, deep and rich and nice, like burgundy wine, interrupting the flow of traffic and the clashing of plant leaves and the pattering trickle of fountain beside her.

 

She doesn’t stir. Breathing slow and deep. He could watch her chest and ribs dip and swell all night long - he had, in the beginning. Watched her breathe and dream and calm his sandpaper-and-barbed-wire-wrapped, ragged soul.

 

Not so much as a roll of the eyelid in her unconscious state. He lifts that stray misbehaving hair off her cheek. Tucks it, tames it back behind the small shell of her ear. He’d watched her do that tuck so many times in Silver Pine, when he’d been a shackled beast. All the things he wanted to do to her back then- oddly enough that seemed the _most_ intimate of all.

 

His eyes flicker down her body. Lands on her knees near where his hand rests. He grins a little more. Reaches for the tortoiseshell buttons over the bridge of her thighs. He parts them gently, opening the dress, seeing as he revealed more and more of thigh, and panties and then- at last- her gorgeous cleft.

 

He undoes buttons up to her abdomen. The silky stretch of it caught between two prominent hipbones. Her pelvis that cuts out her skin in jutting bone the way she’s stretched. How many times had he clasped those bony-almost-handles of hips as he fucked her to heaven and back? He’s lost count. He _loves_ that he has.

 

He spreads the dress, and then spreads her thighs. Gently pushes them wide open. Slides clever fingers through her ancient-porcelain coloured lace underwear. It snips silky at his fingertips and he dives beneath the lace. Finding her to be softer. Delighted also to find her dribbling wet for him.

 

He coaxed out more.

 

Gently circled her slick clit, pushes fingertips in the pulsing heart of her pretty pink cunt. Scorching at the tips of his fingers.

 

He takes them out and tastes the wet. Slides fingers on his tongue and sucks on the tart taste of her clean wet pussy. Now he simply needs it _all_.

 

He hooks a finger in the crotch of her panties and coaxes them down her fleshy round thighs. His favourite place to suckle kisses into. The places she despises. Hates how jiggly they are. Dislikes the lumpy cellulite that gathers there. He growls into those thighs and kisses and nips at them to make her see how wrong she is. He’s addicted to loosing his mouth in-between these gorgeous things.

 

He licks his pussy tasting lips when he gets her knickers off her ankles. Shoves them away. Doesn’t care where too. A bird can fly off with the scrap of Chanel things for all he cares. He crawls up the double lounger and sets his eyes on the nirvana there that’s waiting for him.

 

He kisses her first - he usually does. Kisses all over her cunt. Nuzzles his face in and gets a whiff of the pussy that drives him crazy. Briny honey tang reaching his nose. He tastes her. Starts with gentle flicking licks, and then his tongue is fat, flat and wide and he’s eating her up til she drools down his chin.

 

Now he’s nose deep and he’s dizzy and desperate and so so _so_ like a man in love.

 

He laps fully at her now. He’s not gentle about it either. Eats her out something fierce. He sucks and licks her up til he feels her thighs twitch. She’s finally coming round. He doesn’t break away from her pussy. Not even to breathe. He drowns himself in this. Swallowing her down. Only breaking off to rub her clit and look up at her as she starts to stir.

 

Her mouth parts and she squints down to see his inky-dark head socketed between her legs. Eyes amber-chestnut ablaze in the sun as he watched her as he ate her out. She can’t watch him for too long. His eyes blister skin like matches on paper.

 

She crumbles as she moans his name. The sweet sugar of her voice all broken and cracked. From sleep and sex. “Oh, _oh_ god-Kylo....” She’s sighing. Praying his name along with the reverence of distant church bells tolling. His call to prayer in her voice. His temple of worship between the steepled arch of these legs.

 

Her head thuds back to the lounger below. She covers her mouth with one hand. The other fists in her skirts and she stabs both her heels into the cushiony bed. The artful tricky ways of manipulating a woman into pleasure with ones tongue - Kylo could very genuinely be a virtuoso of such a deed.

 

Cruxes of desire in her blood are fizzing and popping and blooming louder. Not quite as loud as the sound of his mouth moving on her squelching cunt though-

 

He circled her puffy rosy clit with his tongue. Drawing sticky tacky shapes there. Too much wet slipping down to her ass before he gets a chance to lap it up. Damp muggy - pooling a wet spot on the cushion below. He cradled her ass in both hands and drinks her down greedy like she’s a goblet of sanctified wine on earth. Shoves his face right up in her pussy. No space wasted. Touching everywhere. All of it. Jamming tongue worming deep.

 

He swirls around her with the tip of his clever tongue. Sucks. And swirls. He tries two fingers and her belly clenches tight like drawstrings tugging in. Cinches up and flutters pleated. She’s panting and he’s finding that spot- that goddamned blessed patchy spot that just shatters her entire being to blissful splinters.

 

She screams. Fully screams his name as if he’s driven a dagger in her heart.

 

He smirks. Licking her clit and pummelling on that spot with his fingers. Again and again and _againagain_.

 

Before too long and she is weeping for him. Sobbing tears and she just wants to burst. Porn wet sounds swill from his fingers delving her pussy. He strokes at her with his tongue in deft confident moves.

 

Doesn’t need to ask if she likes it. She’s begging for more. Crying out for it. Doubtless a few people below enjoying the sunshine will have heard her beg him to devour her pussy til theres nothing left of her. Nothing at all but some limp bare bones.

 

He grumbles and moans and her pussy is flooding his mouth. He crams his knuckles and fingers in deeper. Wetter. Hotter. Faster.

 

Her thighs are curling up to tense, words dribble out her mouth like breath and then- then he sucks her clit and she pours free. Yelling for him.

 

Liquid - it fills his mouth and spurts hot over his fingers like tropical rain. Sweet salty-honey and musky humid damp. She’s fisting his hair hard and her legs jackknife and then straighten. Trembling and twitching til she sags back - cunt all fluttering around his fingers. Thighs shiny. Lounge cushion dribbling with her cum.

 

He licks up from labia to clit. Not wasting a drop of her briny sweet cream. She’s all over his lips his nose his jawline. She’s thick on his tongue and he still wants more. _Greedy greedy._

He rests his nose over her cleft and kisses at her pulsing clit. Swollen puffy with pleasure. Shiny wet in the sun with spit and cum. A palm frond shade now stripes at her partially revealed belly.

 

“I-oh, I didn’t. Mean, to...” She puffs.

 

“If the next words that come out of those lips is an apology, I’ll do that to you again in punishment, kitten. Because making your pussy gush like that is _the_ prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever _seen_.” He promises. Nips her thigh to suck a love bite. Sucks up sweat where her pink inner thighs rubbed together.

 

She jolts a little with the sting of the bite. Mumbles a groan. He slinks up over her body and nuzzles her sweaty neck. Licks the divot of her suprasternal notch. Nudged the silver Harry Winston chain out his way. Bites around a diamond when it impedes in his path.

 

“Your meeting go ok?” She sighs after he’s tucked himself around her. Nestled next to her, softly stroking shapes over her prostrate body.

 

Her sense took a while to swim back. Him waking her up with oral like that, like the cunning devil he was. He’s idling shapes over her tits. Naughtily slipping his fingertips in her cunt again when he wants to get her groaning breathy for him.

 

He kisses her shoulder. “Went good.” He answers succinctly. She’s closed her eyes again but gasps when she feels him slip on his side behind her. Grabbing for a hip. He turns her on her more fully on her side and she understands why when a fat, heavy beast of a thing is suddenly against the back of her thighs. Prodding her pussy eagerly.

 

“Ever had dirty-hot loud sex on a hotel roof?” He asked. After he eases the fat head of his cock inside her slippery clutching walls.

 

“Not that I can recall...” She moans when he strikes a good spot - a real real good spot. Real deep. Catching it with the natural delicious way his cock curves.

 

“Oh.” She cries. Mouth falling to form a perfect little ‘o’

 

He slams his hips up once and batters that spot until her tears come. He’s panting on her neck. Puffing hot breath. Grabbing for her waist. Watching her sink down onto, and being split open by him.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ be quiet, baby.” He smirks at her ear.

 

Safe to say - she _isn’t_.

 

He takes her apart, there, under the blazing cyclops of a golden sun. On an Italian spring day. Makes her bloom into blossom like the magnolia trees. Takes her to pieces again and again. And is there to soothe her all-together again afterwards.

 

When he’s done. After he’s spread her out stark naked, clothes limp around them, on that lounger tossed out like butter spread thin across too much bread. Saggy limbed and gasping. Dripping sweat onto each other from the relentless heat of sun.

 

He pours out his love to her from panting lips. He kisses her with it. Caresses her. Smothers her and he doesn’t care- Says “ _I love you._ ” Til his lips run dry; she answers in kind.

 

He knows this beautiful thing they share must never _ever_ be allowed to stop.

 

 

 

~

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

They’re back out in Milan nightlife once again. Out into those twisting warrens of cobbled alleys. Buildings the colour of biscuit sandstone, marigold yellow, and divine Tuscan rust red. The sun casts like sticky honey off every brick. Slithering across the barrel rolling roof-tiles as it sets out the sky. It’s bronzed fingers loosing their clutch on the buildings. Slipping away.

 

The sky is blush rose pink. Like drapes of crepe netting splashed with lilac and starfish orange. The night is cool yet the warm baking sun hasn’t crept it’s way out the thick buildings yet. Walls still blaze, grossly over-burdened with it. The air is full of the sweet bloom of spring. Heavy sits the drip of pollen.

 

They just wander. Until they find another little Piazza to get lost in. This one - just like the one before, it devours Evie whole. It’s full of sage hued olive trees slung with looping string festoon lights. There’s antique books for sale on dozens and dozens of trestle tables. Set up on the rickety stone cobbles under the looming shade of a squat, simple church. The Basilica of San Lorenzo.

 

Nothing compared to the intricacies of the Duomo they saw yesterday. This is far neater. Simpler.

 

Kylo explains why. Though Milan is a city sprung with some of the best examples of classic Italian churches. Neo-Gothic halls of ancient famed religious worship. Dripping loud with gild and pomp and circumstance. It can also boast of cleanly simple, still breath taking, Renaissance chapels. Even some unusual early examples of Christian basilicas still stay standing here. And he took her to see one of the early trompe l’oeils ever featured in a church.

 

Today they’d been to bask in the chalky pastel masterpiece of the Last Supper in the refractory at the Santa Maria Della Grazie. Then he’d taken her to see the basilica di Sant’eustorgio. A 5th Century church. Oldest in Milan. Shrouded in legend and beauty. Neo-Romanesque facade dominated by a bell tower. The place where every year on January 6th, Milanese bishops start on their journey to religious life.

 

Kylo knows the church is impressive. But he leads her straight to its hidden goods. Leads her away to show her a tryptich of the Virgin and the Saints by Bergognone. Hugs her around the waist from behind as she admires it. Speechless in its beauty. Paintings of old were supposed to do that- he realises. Never seemed to have such a pulling effect on him.

 

Of course his Kitten is entirely different - she feels the beauty and the ancient majesty in the artwork in a way he’s seldom experienced. He’d be jealous if he didn’t love her so fucking much he could burst into song.

 

He kisses her ear as she stands there - admiring. Adoring. He growls at her that he’s hungry. He’ll buy lunch. Before he envisaged desecrating a deeply religious place by fucking her up against one of the mouldy-mustard stained and crumbling walls. Spill her tits into his mouth and suck the hard peaks rosy red as he slides his cock deep and bares her back to the history encrusted walls.

 

He swipes that thought away into his fantasy folder and instead - leads her away for a cafe lunch in an excellent seafood bistro, in some piazza somewhere nearby. Down one of these winding cobbled red streets. To a place he would never be able to find again. Odd how these cities seem to make familiarity an untraceable thing.

 

They find a piazza. And a gaggle of some excellent restaurants. Bustling with the loud business of lunch. The square is packed and rammed with tables. A beautiful sable haired young girl plays the violin near the fountain in the bubbling bustle of the town square.

 

They feast on a smoked mackerel, fennel and orange salad with glasses of Chablis, and then a gigantic heap of Linguine al tollo - tuna served with ribbons of sauce soaked pasta, with chilli’s and olives and thick wedges of waxy lemon. They sip fruity-sharp limoncello and sort out where to head next.

 

Kylo buys Evie two red 1€ flowers from a tiny hatch of a florists shop front. Because she’d said they were pretty. The poky Shop was run by an elderly little kind Nonna in a blue apron. Who gives Evie, for free, a fiori geranium. She taps at her nobbled tanned left hand and says something loud and intrusively teasing, barking laughter at Kylo.

 

Evie swore she saw his ears tip red through his hair. Kylo paid her too for the geranium and placates her with a smile and some polite Italian. A kiss on the hand too. They hear her guffaw laughter even as they walk off. A great jolly laugh it was. He links his arm around her and they walk away. Smiles lingering.

 

She wants to ask what she said to him. But she thinks jovially that maybe she’s better off not knowing - probably loudly being all flirty with him or something. She likes that he’s such a heartthrob who induces even old women into flirting and matrimony. _Sei sposato?_ She kept saying. _Bella coppia._

_Forse presto._ Kylo had answered the nosy nonna. She seems happy with his fluent quick answer.

 

Evie decides to gift some of the flowers to the violinist girl. Sets it in her coin basket. She smiles thankful even in the middle of her piece. Purple gypsy skirt swaying with her movements. She was wearing a gold ankle bracelet that shimmered on her olive-tanned skin.

 

They pass shop fronts. Antique. Designer names. Family run tavernas. They pass all sorts. She spies something in a window. Sends him off on an errand to get them both a cannoli from a vintage old food truck. He obeys. And when he meets up with her again - passes her a sugar dusted pistachio and chocolate chip ricotta rolled treat, heaped with raspberries, laced snowy with icing sugar. She’s got a tiny white Chanel bag in one hand.

 

He frowns at her kindly. She explains she wanted to buy herself something nice. A bottle of Coco Mademoiselle. He insists he would’ve bought it for her - but she was earning steady money now, she claimed. And she was. She was practicing speaking her learned Italian, and could afford to treat herself.

 

Gives him a placating happy kiss. Sunshine spilling out her fingertips. Now she smells like rose petals and orange. Jasmine and patchouli. She loves the perfume he bought her - of course. But she likes layering her eau de parfum scents. He doesn’t care - he’s open to anything that makes her neck more inviting to kiss at.

 

Their wandering eventually leads them to this austere clean church here, beside this little tucked away piazza. Filled with books and twinkle lights and trees. Sun casting the frothy rose glow over them and the city. Dark evening starts to ebb in. Indigo shrouding in to bully and dominate over the fading pink.

 

They walked arm in arm. Just drinking in everything Italy had to offer. The sights and the smells all mingle together. The hot rotten grit of city dirt. Cloying air. Graffiti on sandstone walls. Panetella smoke and Marlboro smoke sickles and clouds up the air now and again. Smell of coffee. Roaring laughter. Whine of mopeds. The thunk of slow traffic. The golden din of chatting bars and bustling cafés and taverna’s at night. Throaty Italian language bubbles loud and vigorous. Evie’s never seen a language so animated in all her life - the very essence of it’s nature is viciously loud and celebratory. She likes that.

 

Kylo loses her to the book stalls - as well he knew he would. He holds her slim Chanel shopping bag for her. Kisses her cheek. She slips out from under his arms and wanders the tables. He sits by the fountain. Admired the church hidden by the red-rust alley just beside them. He watches her keenly browse the dusty old books. Likes how happy it makes her. Fills her right up. Brimming with it.

 

By the time she’s finished, she’s got a stack of books piled high to her chest. Smearing dust over her white button up dress most probably. But she’s too elated to care. She pays the street vendor. He bags the books, wraps them up in brown paper, ties the pile with string for her, and she strolls back to him.

 

“Fancy some dinner?” She asks. Hooking her pile of books off her hooked fingers.

 

“Sure thing.” He answers. “You wanna pick?” He seeks.

 

She points a finger at a narrow little house of a pizza place. Just across the way. A building so narrow and thin it looks like it shouldn’t be standing. Like the flat iron in New York. Looked like one strong gust of wind would have it over. Diner’s were crammed into every golden room of it. Tables teetering out on window balconies. Blue wood tables and rusty iron chairs. Tops of them crowned with cheap flowers and candles in vases. She seems happy with her choice. He gladly follows her lead.

 

They’re seated on the second floor. Stairs up to them so meagre and poxy Evie worries Kylo won’t fit. Him there, in all his towering stature. Clad in his dark jeans. That blood Valentino dress shirt and his Barbour boots. Dressed down casual from the ruthless designer businessman he was this morning.

 

They squeeze up the staircase and sit in the window. Crammed in. He looked so huge sat at the tiny creaking table. Decorated with a flickering candle casting chiaroscuro up his scarred face, and a single shasta daisy in a blue glass jar. Evie holds his hand after they order.

 

They share a bottle of cheap blush pink wine. Order two pizzas that arrive very quickly. On wooden handle boards. A slightly charred crust, centre bubbling with salami, peppers, olives and cherry tomatoes. Scattered with singed basil leaves sticking on the modest sweet burst of strained tomato sauce. Mingling with the salt of gooey mozzarella and herby basilico.

 

Traditional Italian wood fired pizza. It’s quick cheap food - followed by cheap sweet wine out of stumpy wine glasses. But the fare and the authenticity of it is so simple and amazing.

 

They eat their huge stretched pizza’s and gaze across the piazza at the bookish square. Evie tells him she bought an old architecture one for him. It was in Italian but she liked the look of it. Knew he’d appreciate it.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.” He smiles. Licking sweet passata di pomodoro sauce off the corner of his mouth. Paper napkin bunched in his free hand. Rubbing her hand across the postage stamp sized table. Barely enough room for their wooden platter plates, littered with crusts, and then there’s two wine glasses. And a bottle and cooler. Never mind pushing past all the clutter to hold and stroke her hand - he does so anyway.

 

“I wanted too.” She tells him. Eyes sparkling sincere in the low light of the taverna. Frowns gently at him. As if she was affronted he’d even think anything else about her spoiling him. Cause he’s usually the crowned king of that honour in this relationship. The short stem red rose he bought her earlier, she’s wearing tucked into the bun of her gathered hair low at the nape of her neck.

 

“You can spoil me but I can’t spoil you with a 15€ book?” She teases.

 

He smiles. Mouth tips at the corners. Eyes warm a little, here in the low light. Under a ceiling draped with fake plastic purple rain of Wisteria vine. Dotted all above is a tangle of green vine laden with plastic string lights. She watched the dimples in his cheeks rise. Darkness caught in the wrinkles. How some people didn’t see his beauty, she _can’t_ understand. Not one bit.

 

“I’ll keep quiet then, and just say Thankyou...” He smiles. Draining more sweet Zinfandel rosé.

 

“I really enjoyed today.” She says. All the churches. The art. The history. The Italian culture of it all. One hand under her chin. Tiffany bracelet he got her for Xmas sliding down her arm. Clinking against her her Gran’s one sat there too. Because that’s just the thing about her - she cherished and polished what people gave to her. Somehow, in her quiet way, she made it ten times greater.

 

“You Italy-ed out yet, kitten?” He asks.

 

“I think I can safely exclaim that I could wander through this city for ten years and not get bored.” She insists. He swore that made his nonexistent heart tick over.

 

She’s sat there all smiley and he slightly loves something about how she’s tinged with a touching kiss of pink sunburn from this morning, on her arms. She’d let him fuck her like an animal on their sunny rooftop terrace. Naked and bared right to the suns mercy.

 

“And find out new things about this city every day...” He adds. Italy seemed to be always shifting. Metamorphosis of places and experiences. No person could have the same two takes of it. Always evolving.

 

“That too.” She agrees. “Just good food. And good wine. And friendly people.” She accepts. “I’d get very fat very quickly.” She scrunches up her nose. And laughs. Wine gone silly up to her head. He smiles wide at the sight of her split-giddy-smiling-happy. It pours out of every pore - her goodness.

 

“If you love that. You’ll love where we’re going next.” He promises. Suave secrecy plotting in his shining deep eyes.

 

She tilts her head at him. “You’re plotting something.”

 

_Oh_ , he was.

 

He’d been plotting for a good while now. He can’t pinpoint where the revelation came from. Maybe it was there all along? Buried down deep. He certainly hadn’t known about its existence for long. It started as a need. But now it’s more. Now it’s risen to the surface and he cannot ignore it. Something calm deep inside won’t let him. He doesn’t want to push it aside.

 

For once in his shitty life- he embraces some semblance of feeling.

 

“Maybe I am.” He hides. Smiling still. “Suffice to say, sadly, tomorrow is our last day in the city.” He informs her.

 

“One more day of sight seeing then?” She beams up. All perky.

 

“Anything you want.” He gives her - simply put. He’d throw a lasso around the moon if she asked it of him. Pull it closer to earth in odes to keep her happiness.

 

“By the way. If I didn’t mention it before. _I’m_ paying for dinner tonight.” Evie insists. Navy-marine eyes of hers looking the most determined he’s ever seen them. She sips back some wine.

 

He gives her that ‘ _don’t challenge me’_ look. Softened a bit for her sake. It doesn’t work. _It doesn’t stand a chance._ She’s half drunk. And she’s intent on it. He’s gonna be grumpy about it. But he might just let her if it makes her this happy.

 

“Besides...” She points out. Looking at the little paper slip of the cheque. “I think I can stretch to a meagre, wow, 28€ for the _entire_ meal.” She jokes. Slipping down 35€ for a tip included.

 

He lets her get away with it - just this once.

 

“Be a kept man for a change.” She joked light hearted. Smiling sweet at the waiter who came to collect their cheque. Thanking him in Italian. Telling him the food was wonderful. She hands him over the meagre pile of money like she’s won some major battle - in a way she has.

 

She wants show Kylo she really does appreciate all this money he splashed out on them both. This holiday. The gifts. Her shop. She’ll spend as much time as she’s capable of having, on this earth, trying to show him how much she adores and appreciates him - for _all_ of it.

 

“Slow walk back?” He asks her. Draining the last of the wine. She smiles. Gets her bag. Her books. Her perfume. Gathers it all up and they wind through the tiny restaurant. Kylo tries not to bump tables with his wide hips as they pass other couples. He picks his way through the room. and it makes Evie smile. He’s so big. But he tries not to be clumsy with that colossal body.

 

They get out to the street and he gets her tucked safe under his arm. They stroll across the cobbles. Full of food and divinely contented. It’s instinctive now. How they curl into each other - reaching to hold hands as they walk along. Kylo will never understand intimacy. But he understands how it is when he’s holding Evie’s hand.

 

Everything feels right - somehow. _Better? Calmer. Safer._

Ironic how the six foot three and almost 200lbs of muscle and scarred and tatted up ex-con, feels safe around the five foot librarian when she holds his hand. As ironies go, it’s a pretty stunning one.

 

They walk back pretty much in silence. He not-so-subtly glances across at her. Where she’s tucked under his arm. Smuggled right on up to his side. He feels his hip rolling into hers as they walk along. Feels her skirts sway at his legs. Each jolt of his shoes tapping the cobbled brick road as he strides. How she rubs at his back through his shirt. The sound the fabric makes crumpling under her palm.

 

He watches the way the lights from the shops and the streets and the restaurants beads in her hair. Midnight ink sky disturbed by chalky golden glow of the city. How that very same light kisses her cheeks, almost as well as the way he likes to do. Her eyes bright from too much wine. Cheeks and neck rosy with it too. Likes how she rests her head on him when she’s tired as they stroll along. How she’s doing now.

 

The way their bodies fit together like two completing puzzle pieces. He’s reminded how he’d once been so overawed with how he needs her as much as he does. He’ll never understand it. He’ll savour it instead - after all, he lacks the competency of fathoming such a thing.

 

They wind their way slowly through the streets. Through piazzas and squares drowning in nightlife. Past fountains and silent hulking dead churches. It’s not long before they come back to the glittery elegant edifice of the excelsior hotel. They push through the revolving door and head right to their private elevator.

 

Evie sags into the safe harbour of his chest as the lift doors close. She’s breathing in the scent of him from that torso that beats out heat and thudding heartbeat through his shirt. Her cheek warms the mixed lineny-scrape of cotton where her face crushes into his solid pec. His meaty bulk of biceps cradles her. Circles her, and he seals a kiss deep into her hair. She still smells like the sickly pollen ooze of roses and oriental musk of coco mademoiselle.

 

Maybe it’s the walking. But her calves burn with ache. Her feet are sore. And her bones are suddenly iron-mercury kind of heavy. She’s sodden and weighted down. Sodden, like Ophelia sinking in her brook.

 

“You ok there, Kitten?” He seeks. Rests his chin on top of her head. She likes listening to him breathe. The sway of his ribs. Echoing thunk of his big soft heart that only she was privy too.

 

“Wine. Too much wine. Need sleep.” She mumbles into his old claret red shirt. Words seeping into his tattoos.

 

He smiles - the way they went feral at it this morning, he’s not surprised tiredness is creeping up on her. They’d bathed in the big grand tub. Rubbed down all soapy after the terrace session and dried and redressed to go out on the town. But her stamina after a few glasses of rosé started to droop. He’s learnt this about her. She gets tipsy quicker than he can. That big body? Hell. Intoxication doesn’t touch him easy.

 

Hers? Much less tolerant. Hot sex and too much wine and she’s sleepy putty in his arms. Like she is now. Weak on her legs and slumping into his big body for support.

 

The lift doors ping open into their suite and he kisses into her hairline. “C’mere Kitten.” He says. She steps back and then his arms are all around her. She’s up in his hold. Enclosed safe up in the nest of his chest. He hugs her legs up in one hand and holds her back with the other. A fireman’s lift. He carries her to bed.

 

She didn’t have any makeup to take off this time. She hadn’t put any on earlier. She didn’t need it. He finds a source of subtle pleasure in the beauty of her bare face. How real the stark purple bags stand out under her the shade of those pale blue eyes. Or the freckles on the bridge of her nose. The true bare colour of her rosebud pink lips when all she wears on them is chapstick. The undefined way he can appreciate the slope and shape of her eyes when she doesn’t wear mascara or liner.

 

He sets her on the bed. Heaps the books and the perfume on the floor by his bedside. She begrudgingly sits up and undoes the fiddly little straps on her sandals. He undressed too. Strips down. Right to his boxers. She steals one of his plain t-shirts. A grey speckled v neck. One to sleep in. One that smells like him. Like sharp lemons and neat cotton and spring breeze washing detergent.

 

She slips some clean black cotton panties up her legs. Half asleep. A little tipsy perhaps. They stand at the sink and brush their teeth together. She makes a very lazy attempt at washing her face and layering on sticky citrus moisturiser. He guides her to bed. To cool clean sheets - and two _new_ pillows to replace the ones she shredded.

 

She sinks into that five star bed and he falls into it not long after. Like some great hulking sturdy tree being cut down in some dense forest somewhere. She cuddles a slanted plump pillow into her chest. He yanks an arm safely around her waist and drags her back into the arch of his body. Because how dare she sleep so far away from him. Pressing her ass to his hips. Her back to his solid chest.

 

They’re made bright in that dark bedroom by the glittering and fizzing gold of Milan at night. Flaxen stars pour through the massive glass window. Church bells have now stilled. Traffic still blares. It always does. Forever does - this is Italian life is like. The purr and hum of it never stops. It’s just theirs, this view. This soundtrack melding along with the silence. It’s nice.

 

His big hands find hers. Hooks his fingers to slide through. She feels his nose nudge into her shoulder. His skin so hot and smooth, like sand baked strong stone, against her tummy. Brushing at her arms. His breath tickles her hair. Minty breath cool on the crook of her ear.

 

“Are you happy, Evie?” He asks her suddenly. Shattering their quiet with that dulcet enquiry.

 

She slips around. Twists. Manages to land a kiss on his shoulder.

 

“I’ve never been _this_ stupidly happy before.” She promises. “Feels like I could burst with it. It’s too much.” She answers.

 

“You gave me my postcard dream.” She yawns. Smoothly squeezes his hands tight with pure love.

 

He chuckles an odd half sound of amusement.

 

_Good_. Is what he thinks.

 

Because however overbearingly happy she is now, he hopes that amount will triple in two days time.

 

If he was correct, this surprise he’s keeping tucked safe and well-concealed up his sleeve will be the best one of _all_.

 

He strokes her shoulder with his thumb. Likes that her hair still smells of roses. He likes every simple thing of the intimacy they share. Everything. And every tiny detail woven in-between those small things.

 

He smiles in hope. _Hope_...

 

Before Evie materialised in his life, he’d never been a man lucky enough to feel what hope might be like.

 

He knows it’s particular taste now. He has glimmers of it each day. It’s sat right there in her eyes. In her smile.

 

He’ll take it. And far more besides. His mind was made up long ago. He lays his head to rest in the crook of her neck. And he smiles himself off to sleep. Following in her lead.

 

Squeezes her hands tight. And he holds onto her real tight. His one ray of hope in the shoddy shambles of his fucked up life.

 

This woman right here who holds the only copy of the key that leads directly into his rusty dead heart.

 

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thots? 💕 what did we think?


	54. P.S - I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I named it after another billy holliday song again. What can I say? I just love these two, in love. (I hope you do too) 💕

 

Kylo’s about as impenetrable with revealing his secrets as Fort Knox.

 

They have their last day in Milan, as he promised. When the next morning came, a energetic flurry of spring brought with it, butter splashes of sunshine up every building. Sky blazing high and bright and so cobalt blue it was as if it reached on forever. High up into the shimmering amber tipped nimbuses perched in the sky. Every tree seemed so green and fluffed full of buds ready to burst open.

 

Their luggage is whisked away by bell boys. They have one last rooftop Milan breakfast on their terrace. Overlooking the domes and towers of the gorgeous higgledy loud city. Hear the bells and the traffic and the messy din of it all, one last time.

 

Evie’s almost feeling mournful as they head down to the lobby. Stepping out of the luxury glamour of their fine suite. They grace the golden and black marble foyer and Kylo settles up the room bill. Eduardo comes to bid them a goodbye - and sincerely hopes he’ll see them again soon. Evie doubted they got many customers as moneyed up as Kylo in the calendar year. Staying in the most expensive suite in the city.

 

She feels very privileged by it all. Has a feeling that emotion isn’t one that will fade away anytime soon. She’s sure she’ll be feeling that so long as she is by Kylo’s side.

 

He leads her out through the revolving door and there, beyond the thick scarlet tread of the gold fringed carpet, lining the steps. There, sat on the road. Gleaming a wicked black. Sits a smug black convertible Ferrari, yellow badge glinting like a yellow cats eye in the sun. Kylo smirks down at her as the valet comes over and hands him a set of keys. He thanks them. _Ciao Senori Ren._

 

“Couldn’t resist it.” He says to Evie slyly as he opens her door for her. 

 

He’s got a black shirt and wool blend Valentino suit trousers on. Cartier shades sat on his smirking face. Clean shaved face. Smiles and chins all creasing and heart poundingly handsome. 

  
She’s in her favourite blue indigo linen shift dress. Diane von furstenberg. With a big wedge of a tan clutch, in harmony with her short espadrille wedge heels. Big round tortoiseshell sunglasses on her face. She let her wavy hair loose. Save for little plaited braids behind her ears. Kylo can smell the lime basil and mandarin of her shampoo.

 

Kylo swears her rusty hair bleached a little tinge redder and more golden in the sun this week. Like a palette of autumn. Maple, copper-bronze and cinnamon. Like ruddy brown sugar splashed into amber tea.

 

He helps her climb into the expensive car. Trunk already loaded heavy with their Vuitton luggage. She eases into the seat. Scent of new leather churning fresh at her nose. Leather seats warmed from the merry sun. She watches him circle to his door and ease in the car next to her. Adjusting his seat to fit in the fancy Italian space.

 

“Still not telling me where we’re going, _huh?”_ She seeks.

 

“Nope.” He dismisses. Popping the ‘ _p_ ’ as he starts the seamless stallion of an engine to life. Playfully revs. Gets a sense of that monstrously fierce V8 Twin Turbocharged engine. Starts to ebb the car out of the hotel valet stand.

 

“Not even a tiny slither of a clue?” She urges him as she buckled her seatbelt. Tucks her clutch by her side. Wind whipping at her hair. Buffeting it away from her face. She’s wearing her Chanel this morning. He can smell it. Jasmine sensual trail of it balmy in the car.

 

“No sale.” He insists with a smirk. Sun glinting off the framework as he pulls his car into the traffic. Roaring along the Milan road.

 

She lets her questions die out. Let’s the enquiries dry up on her tongue. She’ll find out where they’re headed eventually. Instead she enjoys watching the scenery. 

 

Let’s some warm soothing silence take over the car. Let’s the cool wind scrape through her scalp like raking cold fingers. Hair tossing. Watching sunshine bake onto the rustic red buildings. Yellow brick the colour of dandelion in the sun. Evie takes in deep the smells. The sounds. The noises. Her last snatching glimpse of Milan.

 

She’s assuming wherever Kylo’s taking her, can’t be _so_ far away. She lets it all slip past her eyes. Until eventually the city thins out. Balding into countryside. A single track road leading through groves, under glades and over shimmering wheat fields.

 

Rows of grape vines grow in neat stripes across some plains. Like a perfect green regiment. The hem of the landscape flat, until a mountain rips up into the sky in the distance. Long arrows of cypress trees swipe up along the edges of those fields.

 

They pass crumbling villas from centuries past. Clay barrel roof-tiles roll with the colour of sun and shade. Kylo winds the car through little pink starfish and sand coloured brick houses in unfathomably small towns. Carving around hairpin bends in the slate grey road. Tiny chapels bells toll and Evie likes seeing the countryside this way. This calm hidden Tuscany. Tucked away in rolling hills studded with grape vines.

 

She was a quiet country girl down to her bones. Cities were fun to explore. But after too much time enclosed in concrete walls and suffocating heat of too many bodies scrabbling about to get and be everywhere at once, she prefers the quiet.

 

One thing she loves about her home. If it gets too much, she can go and sit in her study. Open her windows over her desk. And just let nature of the woods be her soundtrack for a while.

 

Listens to swallows chirp and dip. The rustling hiss of wind ruffling leaves on the big oaks. She loves it most of a summer evening. When the muggy heat just starts to leave and cool night spills in. She can’t think of any place more glorious to be, than sat at her desk, on a cooling midsummers eve, with a vase of fresh cut wildflowers perfuming the muggy air. Fresh picked violets and sweet peas and bluebells.

 

She remarks to herself how simple she is to please. How common her wishes and hopes and dreams were.

 

She’s contented by much and asks for little in her small, valuable life.

 

She’ll never be a woman who changes the world or stirs up tempests of revolution. She’s ok with that. Because she can lead her cosy, pocket-sized life and be contented.

 

Never stressing for more. Or wishing she had better. She had a roof over her head. A soft wobbly body to rely on. The marvellous meat clockwork that made her up. Kept her healthy and ticking over. And a job she couldn’t wait to get up and go to everyday-

 

Not to mention the love of a severely misunderstood man to look forward too, aswell.

 

She closes her eyes at night, excited to wake up and see Kylo slumbering on the pillow next to her own. The feel of his weight and his body-heat in the bedsheets next to her and she can never want for anything more- she’s _lucky_. _So lucky._

 

Tickled pink with it all, really.

 

She ruminates on all her luck as they continue their drive, burning white sun dead ahead in the centre of the cornflower sky. She closes her eyes. Feels nothing but the breeze ripping at her hair. The sun curling heat on her cheeks and brow. Feeling the glare of it seep into her skin. Smelling sun baked greenery of the grapes in the air.

 

Her hand warms up all the more, when Kylo leans a hand over the console and clutches hers. Content to rub his thumb over her knuckles. Almost as if he’s acting the loving gesture without even thinking about it. Just likes to hold her hand. She always curls her palm into his. He seeks her touch. She’ll never shrink from it.

 

“Are we heading north or south?” She asks politely.

 

She watches that impassive profile as he grins. Eyes all creased up and she wants to taste the sunshine and the shade in those unbearably handsome crows feet of his. The laugh lines she loves causing.

 

His eyes reveal nothing - he has shades on. Even if he hadn’t, she’s sure they’d still give nothing away. He’s good at hiding his expressions. Masking them with indifference. 

 

She can read some of them. Little snippets of truths. But ultimately he’s very good at locking down the openness in his features. He’s learnt how to do it the hard way - with the childhood he’s suffered through.

 

“Nice try.” He smarts lowly. Kissing the back of her hand. Gently letting go to turn the car around a tricky hair pin up a sloping grassy hill. The road ribboning sleekly over it.

 

She smiles at his candour. “It is in Italy? This mystery place where we’re going...” She investigates.

 

“Yeah.” He gives out. Steel vault well and truly locked.

 

“I think I’d have been more contented with _no_ answer.” She sarcs at him. He chuckles at her lousy attempt at being grouchy. She’s so hopelessly bad at it.

 

He clutched her hand tighter for a second. “Simmer down Kitten. You’ll see soon enough. Not far now.” They’d been on the road for about three hours. He knew the road signs pointing them towards Cotorniano. They were deep into the heart of the province of Siena. It wasn’t much further.

 

He couldn’t believe his sheer luck when he’d stumbled across their destination. It was perfect for her. 

 

From the first night he stormed his dark ungraceful way into her life, he’d seen the sun-aged postcards pinned above her desk. Ones of the Italian countryside. The pointed tips of long cypress trees. The Mediterranean hills that rolled, dipped and crested with bay trees. The smell of them and olives being ripened by the sunshine’s ferocity. The biscuit-sandy green earth kissed by a great blooming cobalt sky. An old sandstone villa perched on a hill, or a lake, offering a Tuscan view that few in this world could parallel.

 

He’d known about her dreams since that night. But he never thought that he’d come to care about them as deeply as he does. As deeply as he is capable. 

 

He thought he only wanted her for the night. To warm her bed, use for her body, soothe the itch, and then be gone in the morning. As it turns out- he’d underestimated just _how_ much he’d get caught up in the wonderful tangled ache of a web that was his need for Evie.

 

He’s never been that familiar with needs. He’s never had to be patient. Everything he aches after, he _gets_. Simple as. The wealth. The power. Prestige. The house, the car, the job. He has it all in his crushing palm.

 

And he has Evie- doesn’t know how, but he does. 

 

And that wanting her? he’s learnt that will _never_ simmer down. It’s this perfect permanent gnawing in his stomach. Like he’s swallowed acid that’s clawing it’s way out. The fret. The worry. Protecting her at every cost. Keeping her smile. Guarding her heart that she’s so ably given, entrusted over to him.

 

He’s almost envious that she’s so free with her heart. He’s devoid of one. He can’t understand the candour with hers.

 

But he does know he’s responsible for safeguarding it. That much he does conceive. And he will protect it as if his very reason for life depends on it.

 

 

He’d stumbled across heaven for her- this place he’s whisking her off too all secret. He couldn’t wait to see the smile that will take over her lips when she realises. He once said he’d do anything to see that cherry smile. And he never rescinds his promises. Not even his own secret-self vows.

 

They pull down one road. One that leads them down a bay tree glade. Suns speckled like yellow freckles over the car. He then slows to turn into a single track dirt road. One that sliced right through grape vine fields. Honey and fruit of growing wine bittersweet in the air. 

 

Gravel dust crackles and spits out from under the tyres as he creeps the car slowly along the road. This was the very edge of the estate. It could be another ten minutes of driving before they reach the historic and homespun centre of it.

 

“This estate dates back to the 13th century. When one family used to farm this land with cattle.” He explains.

 

She smiles at him. Shimmies up in her seat. Takes in the surrounding vine fields and the curving slope of the road that leads them up a hill. He’s trying to hide his keen grin. Waiting til they get over the hill and into the valley beyond.

 

They eventually come through the last of the vine fields, mingled with dense thickets of orchards spread in them too. Not just a vineyard. But she can see bay and olive groves. Air spiced rife with bay leaves. Small nobbled, gnarled little trees twined up from the earth. Enclosed within crumbling old cosy clay walls. 

 

Evie wonders what fruit is currently ripening into being on those trees. Figs? Lemons? Oranges? Whatever it is she can smell drifts of it gorgeous green and divine on the air. The sun is beating down so hard she wonders how anything can flourish here under its severity - but it’s beams apparently makes all these lovely things blossom.

 

She doesn’t pipe up with guesses. She waits quiet with her suspicions.

 

They soon come through the beautiful groomed groves and vines, up a cypress lined, beige pea shingle road. There’s two gigantic beige limestone pillars, flanking a gated entryway. Two Bernini-esque marbles plinths, scarred and patched and gouged with moss in front of the manicured greenery that lines the road.

 

He shows the car right down to a stop. Let’s her look. He needs no words for this.

 

Evie’s eyes are instantly drawn through the frame of the big gateway. There, sat under the beautiful kiss of the lush blue sky, sits a house that couldn’t look more precisely suited to its location. Her breath hitches in her throat at the old brick villa. 

 

Beige stone with a slate grey aged roof of rumpled barrel tiles. Limed oak beams too. It’s gardens are so ruler straight and neat. The grey-beige stone, the colour of oats, sits so well next to the bay-teal greenery. It’s all so flawlessly composed.

 

There’s a little circular copse of trees intersecting the road up ahead. Kylo drives up to it. Eases the car into a wide open gravel space. There’s a walled garden hidden behind the end of the white gravel lot. She can see the trees beyond it spilling out beyond the crush of the walls. Curled leaves sat on branches, hissing with hitting wind and made bright with warming sunshine

 

“This is where we’re staying?” She asks him. Still not taking her eyes off it.

 

Kylo’s smirk is her _entire_ answer. Dimples. Eye lines. Sunglasses hiding his flinty things from view. Proud grin on his lips. All of it. Her mouth is gaping like a cute little guppy fish.

 

“Are you serious?” She asks voice wobbly with excitement. Brows pulled up like this is some kind of macabre joke.

 

“I believe I’ve already said I don’t do jokes, babe.” He smarts. Opening the car door and getting out. She follows him. Legs numb as she too clambers out and takes in the villa.

 

It had to be atleast thirty rooms, if not more, this vast sprawling villa. Surrounded by gardens and groves and walled orchards. 

 

Evie just stands there. Looking at it all.

 

_This the view straight from the postcard on the wall by her desk. She knows so. She’s been staring at it for ten years._

 

It makes her come undone. Such a beautiful place as this. She knows there’s a lot of the world she hasn’t seen, hidden away in her little corner of it. She knows kylo has seen what beauty is out there. He likes that he wants her to share in it. Starting with _now_.

 

She doesn’t move. Her peripheral is gone and she’s grinning like a fool. Kylo’s feet sizzle and shift on the gravel and then he is there beside her. Sliding his hand into hers. 

 

A vast obsidian pillar in this bright Italian sun. The long full plains of his muscle, broad back and even broader arms. He stands there under the sky like a walking, hulked out Rodin sculpture. Freshly chipped out the hunk of marble. Casting long cool shade beside her, stood where he belonged.

 

She’s limp with distraction. Hand not gripping his back. She does after a few slow seconds. 

 

Kylo walks her across to the front door. She seems to lag for staring. Gasping when she catches a glimpse of the pool. She points it out to him. The great narrow long infinity pool, tiled with that same bleached limestone, overlooking the entire jaw-dropping vista of the valley this villa is perched - king on its throne- on top of the world, so it seemed.

 

Kylo drops a kiss on her hand. Raises it to his lips. Walks them over to the reception desk. Inside this beauty, are exposed lime beams on a white ceiling. The walls are bare beige brick. Golden chandeliers hung from beams cascading overhead. Glowing soft. Dripping crystal on the new visitors. It’s decor is quiet, soft and shabby-chic.

 

Thick grey couches sink into a woven pebble hemp carpet. Surrounding those couches are ornate ash concrete low tables. A bronze bowl heaped with mint green apples. 

 

Against some of the walls are antique dressers and ivy garlands. Old tracery church windows now turned into mirrors. Porcelain wood candlesticks bear ivory tapers of apricot flames that lick scent perfuming into the air. Notes of green wild fig and cassis. Cloudy. Could taste it. Like plumes of icing sugar sat sweet on her tongue.

 

There’s a woman with long ribbons of coiled silk for black hair opposite them. Sat at a grey French Louis style writing desk. She smiles when they walk in. Her soft accent greeting them is as pleasant as the gentle elegant grey room they’re in.

 

“Bongiorno.” She purrs nicely from dark scarlet lips. Her eyes were russet-bronze. She was eye-catching kind of beautiful, and wore a black blazer with a grey dress underneath. Girly fun heels on her shapely tan legs. Big great dove grey ribbon wrapped up her ankles. Tied in bows.

 

Kylo takes off his shades, and continues to hold her hand as they manoeuvre around the poured concrete table in the middle of the lobby. An army of tall towering stems of green lilies sit in a goldfish round glass vase in the centre. Thats infusing the sugared air with a spray of sticky nectar-pollen too.

 

Kylo greets her warmly. Rubbing this thumb across Evie’s hand as they stand there. Other hand stuffing his car keys in his pocket. He gives the woman their names and she lights up even more.

 

“Ah. Bellisima. Pleasure to have you both here Mr. Ren.” She rises to a stand and shakes it. “I’m Valentina. We spoke on the phone to arrange your booking.” She introduces in a wonderful Mediterranean lilt. Her voice was so husky. Smoky, like grey gossamer. Throaty deep.

 

“Piacere.” He says.

 

“This is my partner, Evie.” He introduces. She leans across and clasps Valentina’s warm manicured hand. She had such soft palms too.

 

“Ciao, Bella.” She beams. Genuine. Not flattering up to them cause Kylo has money. “Welcome to Borgo Santo Pietro. Kylo told me this is your first time in Italy?” She chats.

 

“It is.” Evie grins. “Milan was wonderful. But this villa is... phenomenal.” She blushes. Heartfelt and choking up with Kylo’s surprise. He’s still smug about that. _Damn him._

 

“Prego.” Valentina says meaningfully. Smiling wide. Clasping her hands together at her thighs. “I hope you are enjoying your trip.”

 

“Far too much. I won’t want to leave.” She promises.

 

Valentina smiles. “That’s what we love to hear.” She beams.

 

“I’ll have your bags fetched from the car, Mr. Ren. In the meantime, why don’t I show you to your room... our VIP Pool secluded pool house.” She smiles brightly. Reaching back into her desk.

 

“Come this way...” She says to them both. Kylo watches Evie as they walk hand-in-hand after their pretty host. They are lead through more exposed brick, antique decorated halls.

 

Valentina steps out onto a sunny terrace, studded with grey furniture and ice white cushions. That goes merrily along with the terracotta red of the tiles on the patio. The view, however, is something else than the fine furnishings of this place.

 

Kylo suspects Evie would’ve fainted had he not scooped an arm around the back of her hip. She places a hand in the centre of his chest. He watches her eyes light up. Like a sunrise was echoed in them.

 

It’s just green. So green. It’s all the green and gold in the _world_.

 

Rolls and rolls if it. Like yards of escaped drapers rolls of emerald satin. Grapevines which pinstripe up the distant peaks. From inbetween the cutting spilling slant of hills, sit happily perched long streaks of cypress trees, and a tiny rust red brick village sat not too far off on one of those distant ridges. A model village from this distance.

 

Valentina lets their eyes run away with the view. “We have a huge vineyard here on the estate. Two acres of it. Almost six variety’s of grape and counting.” She gestures in a sweep to their current horizon. “

 

“Here we have. Sangiovese, Montepulciano and Catarratto Blanco. And we have many more. Beyond those hills. Primitivo. Nebbiolo and Barbera.” She explains. Pointing at each distant mound in turn. Counting them off. Evie’s still stuck on the view to be perfectly candid.

 

“We have a spa. And a restaurant here on site. As well as our excellent gourmet vineyard restaurant just fifteen minutes away. It’s a lovely walk this time of year.” She suggests. “We also have a lot of gardens for you to explore if you wish.”

 

“I’d like to book dinner one night, at the vineyard, during our stay - if possible.” Kylo pipes up.

 

“Of course. Let me get you to your room. And I’ll phone the day and time right on through.” She smiles dutifully. Re-encouraging them on down the terrace and into another beautiful part of this exquisite hotel.

 

“It’s so quiet. Are we the only guests?” Evie smiles in asking. Hand tugging on Kylo’s as they pick their way down some outside Tuscan terracotta steps.

 

Valentina turns back with a smile. “Yes. As a matter of fact. We’re having a very quiet spring. You’re our only guests, up until next week.” She smiles politely.

 

She leads them around the outer edge of the terrace and down some more sandstone steps into a walled garden. Evie smiles as she unlocks the warped cream wooden door. Above the door, mothering the entire wall, Wisteria arcs in perfumed arrowhead drips. Raining mauve down the brick wall.

 

She opens the creaking door - Evie loves how it creaks. Old cosy doors should creak. And she takes them on through. The arch is old and Kylo ducks a little to pass safely under it. 

 

Through here there is another infinity pool overlooking the end of valley and some walled olive groves. Here the patio is leading into a private villa.

 

Separate from the rest of the hotel. Walled off. It has a secluded courtyard to the side terrace. Out front was a grass and shrubbery garden, with a powder-white curtained day bed on the lawn. Dripping fringe. Very Moroccan style with braids rope. The front of the villa led through into a walled olive grove. There’s an outside fire pit surrounded by white cast iron, sage cushioned sofas. Trimmed nature on all sides. 

 

The patio they walk into now, bore two white dark wood sun loungers stretching out. Modern and cutting under the shade of a white umbrella by the aquafina diamond pool.

 

She walks them directly through terrace doors and right into the bedroom. The walls and floor are creamy stone. 

 

Pebble-ash, dirty white and biscuit-sand touches make up the room.

 

The bed is draped in silken smoky mink velvet. Grey woven rugs stretch out the tiles. Their luggage is neatly tucked at the end of the bed already. Eerily efficient staff.

 

There’s sleek gold gilded and cream French louis style chairs and settees around the limestone fireplace opposite the bed. Silver-grey and bronze relaxed French country decor swarms this place. It’s bright and spacious. And though it isn’t Kylo’s cutthroat taste like their suite in Milan had been -

 

It isn’t modern. But it is Evie’s taste down to a tee. _That’s what he wanted._

 

She now peeks through to the bath room. _Literally_. There was entire room dedicated just to the bath. It looked out over the pool from a walk of terrace windows shielded with gauzy curtains. Grey gilded settees with slate velvet pillows are stuffed in that room too. Moody dark and shuttered with Venetian blinds if they wanted more privacy.

 

“The amenities are a private garden to the north. And to the west facing. There is a private pool and jacuzzi exclusively for your use.” Valentina explains. Kylo eyes up with gladness the sheer enormity of the crinkled linen bed. Sheets a gentle ivory crush from out the velvet throw.

 

“There’s the bath, separate to the main shower room. This is the master bedroom of course. And through these doors...” She walks the length of the long airy bedroom. Opens double doors through to a sitting room with a chowder stone fireplace. The gilded cream door rasps the tile floor.

 

“There’s a small kitchenette through here should you want to use it. There’s also another sitting room with a flat screen. Where you can find the complimentary mini bar and phone should you need me at the front desk. Which is where I live most days.” Valentina jokes.

 

Kylo stands by the terrace doors. Hands in his pockets. Evie walks up where their host is stood by the double doors. Showing her the muted grey and sand colours of the sitting room. Fresh flowers on every surface and the air is jasmine from the clematis outside the window.

 

“I hope you like it. I’m not supposed to have favourites of course, but this room really is our _most_ stunning.” She winks at them.

 

“It deserves the title and more.” Evie grins. “It’s absolutely wonderful.” She gushed.

 

Kylo’s happy his predictions paid off. Valentina walks to the door to head out.

 

“If theres anything I can get you, please ring. I’m always available.” She offers splendidly. Evie smiles at her.

 

“Actually there is. Could we dine privately here tonight, on the restaurant terrace?”

 

“Of course. I’ll tell the kitchens and get right on that.” She pledges. “And book the vineyard restaurant for you, Mr. Ren. As we’re not busy, I don’t exactly anticipate a rush for tables this week.” She predicts.

 

He smiles.

 

Kylo’s steps across and slips a 100€ tip into her manicured hand. “Thankyou. For everything.” He says meaningfully to their host. Very meaningfully. 

 

“It is a pleasure, Mr. Ren.” She awards with a glad smile. Stepping out the terrace doors. Her grey heels clack the sunny tiles and she pulls the doors too after her. Walks away the way they came.

 

They’re not alone for even a second and she’s _on_ him. All over him. He staggers back from the sudden pounce.

 

Peppering that face in kisses and hugging the damn stuffing out of him. Nestling in his neck and gushing her limitless Thankyou’s onto his skin. Arms clutching tight at his back over his crisp onyx shirt. Creased up from where he’s been driving.

 

He clutched her tight and strokes down her blue linen back. Feeling her singular shape. “I saw this place. And it just looked like you.” He offers up, all simple.

 

“I know it’s not your thing-“ She frets.

 

“My thing? Is whatever gets me _that_ smile of yours, Kitten.” He swoops right down to kiss at the tip of her nose.

 

“Just be _you_.” Shrugs. She answers openly. Face like honesty and adorable vulnerable love. Hands resting around both his hips in a hug.

 

Because it’s _truth_. 

 

Even under all the grandeur and money. She’d still be smiling like a lunatic at him. Even if they were in the seediest, dirtiest motel with scratchy stained sheets and a mouldy shower. He’s starting to see that he just has to be in the same room in order to earn her happiness.

 

That earns her a crook of a brow. “Just be my usual charming, courteous, nice, self?” He teases. When as a matter of fact. He considers that all he is - is the polar opposites of all those words.

 

Nasty. Arrogant. Cold. Calculative. Cruel.

 

However, he believes that a little less when she smiles at him so sweet like she always does. The darkness and violence that first scared her was merely an endearment to her now. 

 

She strokes at his scarred tattooed skin. She curls into the wide plain of his chest without hesitation. She’d stopped seeing the facade he sold everyone. He didn’t sell it to her anymore. Evie was the only person to ever get a glimpse of the true-Kylo underneath.

 

He was bruised and sore and uncertain. Just a man who just deserved some goodness in his life- and some _love_.

 

And now he gets it in spades everyday. How insane is that? So insane he would have to do something about it. And maybe he would - soon.

 

“I think I might go wallow in the pool for a little while. Cool off.” She decides. Spring was sticky hot here. She kisses the side of his handsome angular jaw. Slipping away to go for her massive trunk of a suitcase. Unlatching it to search its contents.

 

They laze away the rest of the day. Sleepy from the sunny drive up here. Well. He was anyway. They’d been driving for close to four hours. His back was stiff as.

 

He follows her lead - lounges on a double bed of a lounger, under the vines wrapped around the gazebo it was under. In nothing but his Cartier sunglasses and his Versace Medusa black bathing shorts. Soaking up the Italian rays of sun into his legs. His torso in the shade. His tatted pale skin had missed this vitamin drenched heat bleeding into his system. It’s a great tonic. 

 

He watches the pool. Where she is. Sapphire-diamond water carve and lap as she swims. Watches her body dip and plunge as she dives under. Wearing a completely modest blue one piece that he was already eyeing up how best to undo. Peering over his shades at the ties that secured the cornflower halter thing around her neck. So blue she almost blended into one with the pool tiles.

 

She surfaces at the other end. Water spitting and patting as she broke the rippled surface. Hair pasted back dark rust to her neck. Dripping on her shoulders. She left her battered book on the big fluffy folded towel. By the edge. 

 

She heaves out and the creamy tiles spattered beige-dark with water dripping from her body. He smiles as she ruffles her hair and dries herself in the big warm reach of the towel. Wraps up it and and pads across to him with her book in hand.

 

Leaves wet footprints across the sun baked tiles. Gives him a wet-chlorine stained kiss as she sinks down on the big bed next to him. He hungrily sucks the water off her lips.

 

Curls on her right hip. Knees clasped together. Turning into him. Wavy damp hair hanging limp down her neck. He brushes one sticky bit of it back from her cheek. Cups her cheek and melts her into a kiss he initiates into something more languid. A _melting_ kiss is what she’d call it.

 

One that has the power to curl her whole body into him for more. To just turn her limbs to warm toffee. She gasps when he runs his hand between her legs. Gently thumbing over her clit. Glossy wet slit. He can feel it.

 

He doesn’t do much but just feel her. Stroke her wet softness under his fingers. Twirl and tease her pussy til she makes that sweet little mewling sound into his mouth. He’s almost tempted to slot his fingers right in her. Stretch her out on this bed for a long afternoon of pleasure and blissful fucking.

 

“You make a fucking one piece look too damn sexy, Kitten.” He grumbles into her shoulder. Kissing droplets of water off her neck. Tasting it where it snuck down to live in the cradle of her collarbone.

 

Her neck tilts back, head resting on the porcelain sun lounger cushion. She lets him undo the halter bow and drag the thing down her ribs. Lowers his lips to her satiny-wet nipples. Tastes those coral peaks he loves so much. Loves on them with his teeth. Sucks them to glossy red points. Like peach candies on his tongue.

 

She’s got her fingers tangled in his hair. Pale through the dark locks twining her fingers. Silky soft and cool where they’re now lounging in a shady spot where the sun has passed them by. Eventually the lazy kissing and petting drifts away. She lays into his body and drifts off to the soothing lull of his fingers tracing patterns between her thighs. Fluffy towel tangled between her calves. Half stripped out her bathing suit.

 

He’s never one for being lulled to sleep in the middle of the day. Yet it’s cosy here, under a cloudless blue sky. And they’re in this beautiful sunny oasis. In each other’s arms. 

 

All is calm and he takes the chance to let himself slumber for once. Snoozing lightly. Tangled up hot and sticky with a damp Evie in his hold.

 

They wake up somewhere close to the evening. Refreshed from their nap. Sun  is low in the sky. Cool blazing orange evening bleeding in. They wake up, and then rub each other up all soapy in the shower with thick bar of pink botanical rose soap.

 

They dress up fancy for dinner and head to the gourmet restaurant. They eat on a private terrace and drink too much wine as the sun goes down. 

 

Stumble back to their hotel room and have tender tipsy sex on the still made bed. The terrace doors spill open onto their private terrace - stained blue with the night and a sky bursting and crammed with stars. 

 

He’s thrusting into her, fucking slow and languid and gathering up every moan. Elbows braced by her head. Her eyes more blue than that pool just outside. He drinks the kisses and mewls and gasps from her red wine, velvet lips.

 

Evie _can’t_ stop telling him how perfect this all is.

 

Kylo _won’t_ stop thinking how she’s the one responsible for making it that way. 

 

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s it treating ya? Fed up of mush yet? No? Good. (If you are go away cause I don’t wanna hear it) and Cause we got more to come that might just rot your teeth out your face entirely. 💕 stay tuned


	55. By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes it’s another song title. Sade this time cause I also worship her. Is it me? Or is my taste in chapter names getting sappier? Oh well.

  
  


 

 

 

 

Kylo knew where she was without even having to open his eyes.

 

“How did I know that was where you’d be this morning?” He smiles before he’s even woken up and taken a look at this sunny day.

 

Look at him- half asleep and he’s all wrinkled-dimple smiles and laugh lines. Talking to the woman he couldn’t wait to wake up too each morning. Going to sleep each night was like a drowsy sadness. Meant he had to be out her sight for a few hours.

 

This love has him hooked so bad. Plunged so deep into him it’s ravaged every cell. _He doesn’t mind._

 

Theres bright pink that kisses the outside of his eyelids. Blazing with it. Hot on his face. Drenching his naked limbs in sun from the terrace doors. They slept with them open - air of full of green country heat. Scents of green lime-bay and fragrant spice of olive trees spills in at night. Cloaks the dark bedroom. Fills the air like the moonlight does. Making the bedsheets glow like spun silver. Or flaxen.

 

He knows Evie likes how she can hear the leaves on the trees skitter in the barely there breeze, as they cuddle up naked and fall away to their cosy respective dreams.

 

This was their seventh day at the Santo Pietro estate. And every morning, he’d wake up, bleary eyed, and naked. All wrapped all up like a Grecian god in white cotton sheets, to see Evie was off somewhere. Cosied up in the garden of a sunny morning with a book open in her hands.

 

Yesterday she’d been in the day bed. In the impossibly green garden. Lounging on the white iron day bed in a sea of lush pouting greenery. Lavender and privet hedges and wide stocky bay trees. He got straight out of bed and lounges with her. Pulling the curtains to shroud them and dozing in the sun next to her as she reads. Resting her book and elbows on his belly as he stretched out next to her.

 

Other times, he’d find her lounging in her stripy cotton pyjamas on the terrace. Or in the pool. Soft sapphire and butter yellow dripping and kissing her skin as she swam lengths - in another modest one piece that drives him utterly insane.

 

The time she had been innocently swimming laps in the copper bruised burst of sunrise one morning. He’d walked out on the terrace. Divesting himself of his boxers to get completely naked - dived in the pool and cornered her.

 

Surfaced near. Splashed her so much she laughed. Shook out the wet in his hair like a shaggy dripping dog. Ripped her suit off her. Let the white scrap of a fucking thing sink to the cerulean tiles underfoot. Gathered her in his arms. Kissed a sexy smug smile onto her lips. Skinny dipping naked in their private pool. Wraps her lovely wobbly thighs around his big hips. Nibbles her neck til she sighs his name. She’s still wary someone will see them bollock naked in their pool.

 

He then set her on the edge of the pool. He remained stood up in the water. Splayed her out on warm creamy flagstone terrace tiles. Parted her legs, holding a thigh in each big hand and ate her out for a good hour and a half.

 

Watching the water drip off her stomach from his shaggy long hair. He’s too busy licking the chlorine wet off her glossy pink pussy to notice.

 

He tastes the sunshine and water droplets off her nipples too. Buried his face in her cunt and didn’t come up for air for an hour or two. Sucks and slurps and tongues her clit like it’s his personal duty. Does it til her pussy is all swollen wet, pink and puffy. _Gorgeous_. 

 

A very satisfying poolside breakfast-

 

Suffice to say they didn’t get much sightseeing done the rest of that day. He was too hungry for her. They ordered room service for dinner and lunch. Stayed in bed and had a blissful naked day. Too many kisses and rolling around sweaty hot in cotton sheets. Fucking and sleeping and then fucking some more, whenever they wanted. Slow and sensual. Or rough and raw. They flip between both choices. End the day snoozing and watching old black and white movies, naked in bed. Eating dinner off bed trays. 

 

This morning, when he rubs misty sleep out his eyes and sits up in bed, warm rumpling sheets pooling at his bare tatted waist, he sees where she is. In the bath. Of course. Soft slap and slurp of water lapping at the tub around her. Sticking soapy suds to cloy around her naked form.

 

He looks down the end of the bed, where the glass enclave of the room is. Past the towering Moroccan four poster bed. The great four lime-wood grey of the spires stabbing up into the ceiling from each corner, spiking up from the great neat slab of the mattress frame.

 

The bath room is airy and ambient with light. She’s striped with emerald palm frond shade striping over the porcelain tub. Thick golden curtains twitch on the morning cool breeze. Big beige terrace doors that the curtains guard, are pulled outwards to their patio. She’s sat facing the double doors that lead out. They’re surrounded in this lush green paradise by Terracotta clay brick walls. No one can see in. Every view is coordinated for them. _Just them_.

 

He can see just her head where she lounges back in the clean sleek cradle of the powder-white tub. Splintered in sunlight oozing off the shiny bath. Her hair is spilled and pulled into a low bun in a clip. Teal blue water pinking spikes of heat at her body. Spa soap like lemons and figs ripe on the air.

 

Suds smeared across her skin. Leaving it chalky clean to touch. Leaving him wanting to suck the soaps taste off her skin. That hint of lemon will tantalise him all day long. He’ll find it later. When they settle for bed in cool freshly crisp re-made sheets. He’ll slide across to nuzzle his chin into her shoulders. Push his nose up into her jaw and take his fill of her. Her skin. Sting of citrus. Salt musk of soap.

 

She twists her head and smiles across at his low morning grumble. He’s giving her a dozy half moon smirk. Ink hair all rakish in its disarray.

 

“Couldn’t resist the view.” She pipes up with a pearly grin. Cheeks both shiny and rosy. He knows how fond she is of her tub at home. One overlooking the beauty of the finest vineyard in Tuscany? She had to take advantage of it.

 

He grumbles and falls back into the pillows. Sinks into the five star luxury that was the bed. He lets the gardens outside and the sounds of Evie in the bath be the soundtrack for a while. Lazy morning. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. After the tempo of this last year - it’s bliss.

 

“Fancy a trip out after breakfast?” He asks. “There’s a cute village just up the road in the hills. Little church, cafes, the usual...” He tells her. Seeking.

 

“Sure thing.” She beams back. She had fallen head over heels with Milan. But she had a feeling that the countryside here will do just as much to capture her heart. She looks out the window for a second. Peering back into the bedroom as she heard the crumple and crinkle of bedcovers. The huge thing is empty now. And he reappears in the double doorway. Slate-grey lounge pants on his legs. The soft ones that feel cosy when they cuddle together at night.

 

He perched on the edge of the bath after leaning over for a kiss. Warm dripping at his lips. She leans up, water splashing, to indulge him. He cups her wet jaw and peers down at his water logged beauty. She recognised the ‘ _look_ ’ on his face.

 

“Don’t try and dive in here with me, I doubt we’d both fit comfortably.” She teases up at him. Slipping further under the dusting brush of bubbles that scantly covered her. Talking about the mischievous nature of their pool session the other day.

 

He raises a brow. “Keep moving like that and I might just be tempted.” He warns. Eyeing up the slippery sheen of her rosy-coral nipples. Sat there topping her gorgeous tits- so innocent and static under the water. Calling out for the kiss of his mouth.

 

Those tits had looked _far_ too tempting last night.

 

She’d worn this simple V neck, cream smock dress to dinner. They wandered hand in hand through a blazing evening vineyard. Weaving through the heavy crush of the vines. Treading the sandy-biscuit dirt baked by the warm sun. Wandering to the excellently acclaimed vineyard restaurant. He wore his deep indigo ink Brioni suit with a soft ivory shirt - one that nearly matched the Chantilly cream of her dress.

 

They were contented. Sleepy-lazy from napping in the sun all afternoon. Skin all warm and quickly turning a more tan shade in this bare hot weather. She cannot begin to describe the sultry sexiness of his pale skin turning golden under his tattoos. All those large muscles kissed by sun.

 

They’d sudsed up together in the shower and dressed in some of their best to wander on down. Through the world class gardens. Gardeners out at this time of evening, trimming and weeding. It was too hot to do it any earlier in the day. Kylo and Evie journey softly to the vineyard for the most excellent meal. A set menu.

 

They started with aubergines - grown here in the estates gardens. Slices of them rolled and stuffed with raisins, capers and walnuts. Alongside some bruschetta. Thick sourdough slabs, laden with rare slices of beef, cherry tomatoes, olives, sweet salt of parmesan, peppery rocket and olive oil drizzled all over. Exquisite on the side of a smooth velvet Malbec.

 

The main was pork loin with white wine and sage pesto. Sides with a Reisling. The fish course was thin slithers of swordfish steaks with sautéed rosemary potatoes. Full bodied rosé on the side of that. Different wine to go with each course. Red, white, pink and dessert wine to top it all off.

 

Their chef pipes dark chocolate ganache hearts on their dessert - cups of pastry tarts with limoncello cream and big chunks of strawberries. It makes Evie blush hard and it makes him smile. They drink entirely too much more. It was a vineyard after all.

 

Once again ends the night tipsy - her, not him. Doesn’t even begin to get at that big body. On the walk back in the fair moonlight. Slithering silver ice off every spec of nature. Air humming with insects and all is presided by the lording full eye of the bright full moon crowning the hot cloying sky air. Beating heat of the gone day stayed thick rising out the ground.

 

She cups his neck and keeps on pressing tiny kisses against his jaw. She’s silly happy. Stupid with it. Full of too much wine and so much smiles and love. Smothering his jaw in sweet lazy smooches. Arms strung around his neck like he’s wearing her as a very drunk accessory.

 

This is what he finds intimate. Of course- the fucking is too. Because now love is woven into every pounding second of it. But this right here, the easy crook of intimacy he’s always struggled with. _This_ is what he’s never tasted before.

 

Big big big blue eyes looking up at him all tender and sweet. With love and respect.

 

He cups her neck and kisses her forehead right back. A slight pang of regret sinks in his stomach. He’s grieving after a missed chance. He strokes her hair back off her flushed face. Big hands cupping her throat.

 

They’re stood in the middle of a beautiful vineyard under a spreading burst of speckled stars up in the sky, and Kylo’s heart is melting like butter dripping golden down to his shoes because - he realises this is _all_ he will ever want and it’s like this supernova tempest is quietly quaking at his chest. Crushing it in. Because he just _knows-_ this love has snatched him body and soul. _  
_

_This has to be it- this is it. She’s it. His Evie._

He thinks on it all as he sits there on the edge of her bath, gazing down at her. Maybe the time will come later... _just maybe._

_“_ Where do you fancy doing dinner tonight?” She speaks up. Loving how that was her only concern. Rubbing soap along her arms with a fuzzy sponge. Lavender crests on the air. His muscles bunch as he holds himself to sit near on the roll-top porcelain lip.

 

“I wouldn’t say no to another one of those antipasti boards from on the terrace restaurant here. I could book a table for tonight? half seven?”

 

“Sunset.” She remarks. “Sounds _perfect_.” Kylo’s smirking. It does sound perfect. It sounds _very_ perfect. _  
_

He smacks a wet kiss to her forehead. Tastes soap and then he’s off to shower the sweat off and get dressed. She dries off and does the same. Wearing a daisy patterned blue sundress with bows tied at the shoulders that suits her so much. He gets into his usual affair - dark boss jeans and a plain dress shirt. White today. The kind of white that glows in the unforgiving beat of sun. It’s a linen blend though. It’ll breathe and keep him cool. Black Rolex. Calfskin boots.

 

He’s sneaking grabs at her thighs as they head out the pool house. The skirts of her dress sway and flirt with him when she’s turned the other way. He knows that perky grabable ass is hiding just underneath. Can’t resist groping it. Pats it when she steps up the terrace steps through the door in the walled garden. Floris perfume tempts him too. Crooks it’s floral fingers at him.

 

They head for the car and take a breezy drive into the little town. Hair tossed in the drive. Shades on. The streets wind and twist; tapering into little cobbled roads by the time they find somewhere to park up. Under the broad speckled shade cover of an olive tree. They wander on foot up the cobbled staggered steps into the towns beating rust-walled heart.

 

The houses here are different to the big broad spread of Milan residences. Here the houses are poky and small. Mustard brick makes the houses. Grey lumpy cobbles make the roads and footpaths. Every house seems to have window boxes sprouting greenery. And the little small warren streets are strung with washing lines drying out clothes in the sun. It’s more quaint. More red rust and medieval. Families gather loud and strident, sat out on the porch in the sun. Grandpa’s sat reading the papers, whilst nonna’s and mother’s cook in the family kitchen. Kids play football in the street. And young family’s gather in the tavernas and bars to watch football, drink beer, and enjoy lunch.

 

So many exquisite smells of rich italian cooking wafting out from so many small little kitchen windows. Lunch was ripe in the village air.

 

“Hungry?” He smirks. Hearing her stomach gurgle empty.

 

She puts a hand over her belly. “Maybe a bit. It is lunchtime.” She pointed out. He smiles. Valentina has recommended him a few good small places in this town. Seasonal mostly. Homey places to eat. There in the bustle of summer. Shut up and gone in winter.

 

“Let’s get you fed.” He says. Kissing her hand that he held in his.

 

They’ve wandered around in the surging relentless sun for an hour. Evie took some pictures of cramped red little alleyways tacked with blaring green plants on windowsills. They buy a little brown paper bag of sugar and cinnamon candied nuts from a passing vendor near the church. Snacking on them and fighting over who got the last. Kylo wins that one. Placates her with a kiss. Stealing brown-sugar granule smooches from each other non-stop.

 

He shows them to a simple little cafe. And it was as simple as could be. A little old dark haired woman has a kitchen with a hatch window that leads into the tiny narrow street - her house, that was their restaurant. Her grandson was the waiter. Beanpole kid with scuffed red converse and messy curly flops of brown hair. No more than 14, with a waist apron tied tight on. Carrying things on a tray from the window to the ten tables they were serving.

 

Nonna is the chef, grilling and chopping and stirring in the kitchen. No fancy taverna signs. No staff No front of house and wine list and uniform. Just a chalkboard menu up by the house window telling in Italian what today’s meals were on offer.

 

36€ for lunch for two. Including glasses of wine. Today the choice is a primi of Lasagne. Bistecca alla Fiorentina steak for secondi. Semifreddo for the dolce.  
  
  


They sit at a tiny table and almost instantly two gigantic big deep glasses of red, poured right to the top, are in front of them. The teen waiter gives them a toothy smile as he takes their order to the hatch. The smoke smell of searing steak sizzles out the window. The wine is a light ruby Pinot noir. And it’s very good. Even if not as richly sumptuous as Kylo likes.

 

“How does the countryside compare to the city for you then, kitten?” He asks her. He’d always loved the bustle and edge of busy towns. Always loved the luxury of a five star modern hotel. But Evie just glows with affection for the quieter pace of the rustic countryside. This is her scene. And old habits will die hard.

 

“I adored Milan. But. I feel very peaceful being here. Seeing a slower way of life. More rural. Reminds me of home a little bit.” She insists. Smiling into her wine glass.

 

People step by them, waking past barely a foot away on the pavement. Bikes cycle too. Somewhere off in the village a bell is rolling noon. The chairs and tables of the tiny restaurant crammed around a corner where the building was on a busy street in the city centre. Sloped on the cobbles. Table not sitting straight. That was all part of the charm.

 

“I can see the similarities.” He adds. “Both communities feed me extremely well.” He smiles. Making a joke. Loving her wine stained smile more than ever. Wants to lick the Pinot noir off the cracks in her soft pretty pink lips.

 

“Safe to say I think nonna’s on every continent adore you Kylo.” She grins through laughing.

 

Before very long at all their waiter brings them over two bowls of lasagne on mismatched crockery. Pasta bubbling with gooey melted cheese. Two perfectly angular squares of layered lasagne. Packed with rich wine red ragù. It’s delicious and Evie devours every bite to settle her hungry belly. The next course is the huge boned Tuscan steak, Bistecca alla Fiorentina - which they share. The meat is succulent melting pink on the bone. Served with garlic butter and parsley drenched mushrooms.

 

It’s a nice sight to see - sat here in a sunny little village, with its medieval mustard brick buildings smothered in ivy, on a wobbly uneven pavement under a pouting st. giles blue sky. They smile to each other as the Nonna starts singing loudly to herself from the little radio in her kitchen as she dances around. Humming loudly in melodic Italian to something old and jazzy. Calling her grandson over to hand him two deep domed bowls of red red tomato soup.

 

They finish their steak and all but wipe the plate clean. Kylo tells Evie that the cut of meat comes from a specific breed of cow born and bred from this region. Chianina. Cut from the loin. All one and a half kilos thick of it. Why it was better that they shared it. It was rich smooth meat and beautifully grilled. Perfect companion to the buttery garlic of the cremini mushrooms.

 

The thick wedge of semifreddo has to steal the show though. In odes to his sweet tooth. Semifreddo was a creamy frozen beauty of a dessert. Plenty of cream and sugar mixed with limoncello - another popular flavour that cropped up a lot here. It’s blitzed through with raspberries. Dribbled with pink sweet coulis. So cold and sweet it aches her teeth but it’s gorgeous. Nonna sends over two little Sherry glasses of limoncello to go with their dessert. They both smile their thanks to their excellent chef for this lunch.

 

They finish the dolce - Kylo scoops what little of it she leaves into his mouth. They get up to leave. Kylo pays 50€ for the meal. And tips the Grandson 25€. Evie loves that about him. Never too big to pay attention to the people around him and pay his thanks. She knew that Grandma Solo’s influence was never far away. She was the one responsible for raising him with that set of manners. Her teachings of raising those two boys right clung perhaps way more onto Kylo than it did to Ben.

 

They make their way back through more cobbled streets. Passing more homes, cafes and bars. Some cute souvenir shops full of tat. Evie buys postcards to send to Flo and Arthur. One for Cally too. She drags Kylo into a little confectioners shop where a whole family are the proud makers of the best Italian Torrone that she’s _ever_ tasted. Every flavour imaginable packed with almonds or pine nuts and studded with dried fruits.

 

He’s just finished chewing a sample taster. From the tray off the counter where thick mountains of it are heaped under the display glass. A gummy sweet piece with apricots, honey and pistachios. When she shoves another sticky wodge into his mouth.

 

The flavours are completely different, instead of gooey honey and dried sweet fruit, tacking his teeth together, this one is dark cocoa and and coffee, with walnuts and deep brown sugar. Cracked bitter chocolate drizzled on top. He moans and holds her fingers to his mouth as he sucks off the taste. Her cheeks heat and she’s giving him a ‘ _not here’_ sort of a look that he just adores to challenge.

 

They’re offered most samples of everything that they have. Candied honey mixed nuts. Torrone, panettone. Handmade sugar creams. Gianduia chocolate hazelnut pralines. They’ve just had dessert but the gelato counter is too good to resist. He tried a blood orange aperol ice cream - the popular bitter liquor that was very italian. Served with a sliced chunk of juicy red grapefruit. Evie goes for the sour sweet sting of lemon gelato. Creamy citrus silk on her tongue. Just sharp enough. They sprinkle it with candied pistachios for her.

 

They - eventually - leave with heaps of confectioners presents for all the folks back home. Boxes and boxes of it. Walking back to the car absolutely stuffed with food. Gorged on sight seeing.   
  


The lovely family in the shop had also given them a free box of cannolis to have later - Evie will tuck them safely in the fridge when they get back to the hotel. They can snack on them by the pool later tonight with a glass of wine. Sit on the edge, nibbling their sugary treat, whilst dangling their feet in the cool blue pool with a glass of cold rosé beside them. That sounded like _the_ best evening.

 

Kylo has been right what he said on their first lunch in Milan at Luca’s place. They’d both be leaving Italy slightly heavier than when they came. All the indulgent creamy desserts, and red meat and far too much wine. She says this to him as they lick down every drop of gelato from their tubs. Kylo’s smiling, flinty eyes glitter dark. His hand snatched for her ass. Squeezes it. Big warm paw sneaking up under her blue daisy skirts.

 

“You’d be fucking gorgeous to me at _any_ size, Kitten.” He assures her. Hooks a beefy arm around her waist. Flutters flirty kisses at her temple.

 

He loves all the soft sweet plump places on her. Nuzzles into them when she’s naked. That soft belly. Inner thighs softer than warm butter. Loves when they both squeeze and crush his ears when his head’s between her legs. The very nice squeezable ass he’s got under the clutch of one hand right this very second. The broad hips covered in lovely smooth jiggly flesh. He loves it all. He’s kissed and licked and worshipped at every inch.

 

“So long as I don’t end up the size of a house.” Evie smiles. They heap their piles of confectionary into the back of the car. Kylo smirks an amused chuckle. Getting into the sun-scorched seats. Smell of new roasting leather blazes, stifling the air.

 

“I’d still love you.” He urges. Kissing her hand as they sped off quick. Flying over the cobbles. Roaring engine.  
  


“And besides- the way Flo’s feeding me up each week on fix it day, I’ve sure as hell put on a couple pounds.” He tells her.

 

“All those cookies, and mac and cheese, and beers. Home made lemonade, warm apple cider, biscuits. _Ugh_.” He adds in smiling deprecation. All that homey food that reminded him of Grandmas cooking with each bite.

 

He still worked out most days if he could, but he let that slip now he’s got Evie. Half an hour cuddling on the sofa of an evening with Kitten was far more preferable to bench pressing or running a 5k.

 

Evie likes that he admits he’s gaining weight. As familiar with his body as she is, she hasn’t noticed that he’s got another barely distinguishable belly roll. He’s not in Silver Pine anymore. He doesn’t have to sharpen up his body to help toughen it to keep violent idiots at bay. Didn’t have to refine his muscles like a savage sword on a whetstone to keep himself armed. But she did so _love_ the enfold of those muscles holding her when he gets going. He gives the best cuddles. Those big arms and that singular wide chest she hurries into. Like a ship finding safe port in a harbour. Safe out of stormy seas.

 

They get back to the hotel and the sun hangs burning high in the sky, indicative of the lateness of the afternoon. The ferocious car driven by its equally as ferocious counterpart. Smile is static where his hair is rapid; being swirled and buffeted in the wind as they drive along back under twisted gnarled trees forming glades over the rural little roads. Evie’s stuck on the divots in his casual smile.

 

When they get back to the private pool house parking lot. Through electric twin gates that open with their key card. Onto a shaded olive tree lined drive. Kylo carries all their spoils into the room. Their shoes crackle as they step across the creamy pea shingle drive. Dust scattered from under their shoes in their wake. The ground so dry. No wet on the ground to stick it down. Just sweltering sun and blustering-bursting heat. Everything bakes.

 

They stop into the cool of their suite. The air curls at their skin. Slithering heavy over skin. Smelling like ginger, bay and limes from the Locherber Milano oil diffusers that cleverly weave perfume into the room. Radiating it’s expensive scent everywhere. All over the mink grey, and cream decor trimming their most excellent room. Not only is it stuffed with designer antiques. But it’s dripping designer scent too.

 

Evie puts their nougat in the fridge so it doesn’t melt into gooey puddles. She slips out her sandals and grabs her book. Kylo’s doing the same. Great minds and all that- they settle out on the terrace. Under the big gazebo shade. Out the sun. He’s reading something until she puts her book down for a second. They’re sat apart. He’s sat up. She’s on her side. Feet near his thigh.

 

She turns and rests her head in his lap instead. He strokes through her scalp, over her jaw, and down the cords of her throat. Watching her shut her eyes and doze. She lazily asks him to read to her - whatever paperback it is he has to hand. It makes a refreshing change from seeing him read work related documents. Tells him how much she likes his voice.

 

He looks down to his lap. And sure enough, she had both hands clasped together under one cheek. Resting on his thigh. He strokes a hand through her hair. Of course he indulges her. He usually gave fiction a miss. But he wanted something to read by the pool, and she’d been more than happy to recommend some. He reads to her the first three chapters of the Jo Nesbo thriller he was actually starting to get intrigued by.

 

The afternoon turns even later. Moulding into a sunset evening. The air loses some of its mugginess. They slip in the shower together real quick to wash off the sweat of the day where they’ve been exploring and lounging and dozing. The kind that drips down slick between shoulder blades and gathers on the nape of the neck.

 

He lets her pick what shirt he wears. It was too hot still for a suit jacket. She chooses a light Westwood cotton dress shirt. In old claret red. Dark deep black Valentino trousers and derby brogues. He looks good in any shade of red.

 

She picks something light too. A deep royal blue dress. A gathered halter neck, gathered up around her back and front. Spilling away at her shoulders. Buttoned at her neck, a cut away showing a patch of skin, darting in a thin slice down her back. It’s short and comes mid thigh, cinched in with elastic nipping in her waist. Short sweet and simple. She wears comfy low tan wedges. Puts her hair up with the diamond clip he bought her in Milan. Studded it into her messy tumbled hair.

 

They walk to the restaurant terrace. The restaurant was on two floors. One was an alcove tucked into the arched pillars of a ground floor. Chandeliers string to the plaster ceiling. Smooth cloth tables laden with chic cutlery and old French goblet glasses. Candles burn ghostly flickering amber in fluted glass jars on each table. Odd, when no one is at the tables to enjoy them.

 

Parchment coloured flagstones patchwork out into the exquisite gardens. Stark trimmed green trees and hedges and shrubs. Lining dirty bone gravel paths, under spread out, eaten up into the hungry horizon of baked burnt peaches and copper sunset. Stained gold and orange and rosebud pink.

 

Kylo booked the terrace for them. It was upstairs and out in the olive tree tops. Their waiter takes them there. Up and up. Onto their private dining balcony. Brushing the sky and letting the lucky occupants of the single laid table see the glory of the vineyard at sunset, and miles beyond it. The jagged sprawl of rural Tuscany. All it’s grape vine hills and slopes and cypress trees.

 

Lights strung into the bay tree beside them gleam merry little gold drips in the teal green of the lime-bleached bark. The balcony surround is the same chiffon-cream brick as the villa. The table is a crowning beauty of silver and sparkling old French glassware. Mink smoke linen napkins laden with a snip of eucalyptus as an adornment. Candle lit in the vase jar. As well as three round baubles of dried hydrangeas, and satin white peonies in the middle too. It’s rustic-chic. Beautiful. Every detail so carefully paid attention too.

 

Little did she know, Kylo had requested the flowers for her - two of her favourite kinds. Peonies and hydrangeas. He knew it would make her smile. He liked being right seeing her beam and lean over to savour their scent.

 

There’s grey shabby rugs over the back of the chairs in case they get cold at night. Table lit by candles and lights in the trees and the quickly fading reaches of an eager yet dying sun.

 

Kylo pulls her chair out for her and they settled down. The waiter brings them a bottle of the 1928 Montidori Sangiovese he’s reserved. Had it sent up from the vineyard. One bottle alone was 6,500€ He ordered _three_.

 

It’s poured for them into their French square goblet glasses. Evie’s happy to see he orders the antipasti board he enjoyed so much the other day for his  Primi. “Could you please make that for two?” She smiles politely. The waiter assured them it’s no problem.

 

They are left alone. Sipping their wine and watching the sunset. They don’t even need to speak that much and it’s cosy. The board arrives. Kylo devours his half and most of hers. They idly chat about taking a drive up to the coast tomorrow. She’d love to see the coast here.

 

He tells her there’s a good fishing village, Porto Santo Stefano. Led out to an amazing Italian island. Isola del Giglio. Dotted somewhere in the tepid salty Tyrrhenian sea, on the Tuscan coast. He raises his brow. Shrugs a shoulder all casual. Considering.

 

Offered that they could extend their trip a few weeks more - hire a multimillion dollar yacht and sail south, around Italy - go island hopping in Greece for as long as she wanted. Shop cover back home permitting.

 

Her face is a picture when he tells her that. She stops midway through eating her braised rabbit stew. Lifting her wine to her mouth. He’s smiling into his Turkey saltimbocca.

 

“Ca-can we do that?” She asks with genuine amazement.

 

“Why not...” He says openly. Sipping his wine.

 

“Or we can make that our summer vacation.” He adds. “Can’t lumber Cally with too much responsibility.” He smiles. Putting a small parcel of turkey drenched with the sage sauce and the crispy shards of Parma ham.

 

Evie makes a face. A happy one. “I think she’ll take that place off me if I’m not careful. She’s got the touch.”

 

“You’ve got more of it. Whatever _it_ is. That place was made for you - and you for it.” He lets out. Because it’s true. Her and that shop were a match made in heaven.

 

Evie smiles. “I had the very best pillar of support to lean on.” She says seriously. Fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. Candle and sunlight shimmering peach off her eyes.

 

Their excellent waitress, Lucia, comes up to clear their empty main courses. They hold off ordering dessert just yet. As she does a flash of something grips Kylo’s gut. He waits til they’re alone completely again to speak up. He sips more wine. Nearly drains his glass.

 

They look at the sunset for a while. Light almost gone entirely now. He looks back to her across the table. His brain is zipping and rushing for the right words. He eventually finds the courage to speak them.

 

“Evie-“ He starts. His voice wavers the slightest bit. She turns back to look at him with a curious sweet smile.

 

“I’ve never been-“ He pauses. Gathers his thoughts. And takes her right hand with his left. Twines her little fingers through his own. When he looks at her, the sincerity in his gaze is so open that it pins her to the spot. Rooted her there.

 

“I’ve never felt the peace and contentment that I feel when I’m with you. Never felt that way in my entire life.” He admits.

 

She smiles a little. Because it’s a beautiful cherishing thing to devour coming from someone like him.

 

“You’ve shown me over these months that goodness does exist. And the way you love me makes me feel like I might be deserving of even a small bit of it.” He swallows.

 

Watching their joined hands before his honey-charcoal eyes find hers. And he won’t look away. He smiles lightly. It kisses up the corner of his lips.

 

“You make me see things different. I’ve come to see you as an extension of me. Of all the _best_ pieces of me.”

 

Evie’s heart starts to thud loud and true in her chest. He can see its pulsing her throat. She wets her lips, eyes sparkling. A flush creeps up the base of her neck. _Was this?-_

_“_ I never want to be apart from you. In case that wasn’t obvious enough. I never want you to worry for a second. Not about anything. Not about money. About who’ll you wake up next to each day and love like crazy. Or about who will be there to hold your hand when you’re old and wrinkled and grey.”

 

Her heart is bursting. Her lungs refuse to work. 

 

“Evie. I want to be with you through everything. Everything else in our lives that is yet to come...” His hand goes for his suit pocket and brings out the old antique velvet red box.

 

“I’m wondering if you’ll have me...” He seeks. He won’t get on one knee. Clichéd as it is. He wants to approach this question with them as equals. Cause she _is_ his equal. She’s more than that. She’s better and he’ll always freely admit to it.

 

And if she says yes - she’ll be the very best thing that bares his surname. _The_ best thing about him.

 

He slips the box open and rests it on the table. Right in front of her. Next to the flowers and the candles. And glinting inside is a ring that makes her inhale deep from the mere sight of it.

 

_Great Grandma Winslow’s engagement ring._

The one she never ever knew had been entrusted to Flo, long ago, to be given to the lucky Groom - when he finally announced himself.

 

Flo wouldn’t have given this ring to anyone who she felt was unworthy of her. 

 

It was a gold band. Claw set with an emerald cut diamond on the yellow gold. The band thin and worn from generations upon generations of being sat on Winslow ladies hands. It barely had 0.10 of a carat. It wasn’t the most flawless cluster diamond in the world. But it was all _heart_.

 

This ring dated back to the 1920’s. Maybe even beyond that. Bought from an antique shop in Bond Street, London. When great grandpa proposed to grandma in some long forgotten dance hall. Several lifetimes ago. And here it was on a tabletop in Tuscany, in odes to one man’s love to the woman he can’t live without.

 

“You don’t have to say anything yet. You can think about it -but.” He trails off.

 

“Will you marry me?” He asks simply. So simply it brings forth tears. _Hers_ , not his.

 

She takes that lovely little box, the shabby scuffed velvet, and rubs a thumb over the diamond. The ring she never thought she’d see again. Grandma told her she pawned it when purse strings were tight.

 

_Bloody pawned, my ass. You old lying softie._ Evie thinks to herself.

 

The day Gran had walked out with the ring in her handbag to get it sold and give them some money to fall back on. She’d actually gone straight to Flo’s place for a cup of iced tea and a natter. Shoved it in her best friends nobbled old hand.

 

She’d known then she didn’t have long before the inevitable happened. She was an old tired lady with a failing heart. She didn’t have long. And her granddaughter deserved this one good thing she could realistically get away with giving her.

 

Her and Annie were good as gold. They’d had _so_ much penury and penny counting their whole lives. Coupons and stretching skimping to make ends meet. Winnie didn’t want that for Evie’s big day. With whatever great man she chose. And she would choose a _great_  great one. A king among men.

 

Winnie made Flo promise she’d ‘ _vet_ ’ the guy. Whenever it was that he came along. Flo had promised she would check him out. Absolutely. _Thoroughly_.

 

She regaled to Kylo this very story when he came to ask for her blessing. On January 2nd. Ill-timed as it turned out - she had her whole nosy book club ladies there for a meeting. The whole flock of hens. They tried being sneaky, hiding him in the kitchen so he could talk just to Flo but in the end there was no way to avoid it. They’d ratted him out.

 

It was then - right then, that Kylo Ren loudly proclaimed, proudly, to a room full of old gossiping biddies that he was going to ask Evie to marry him. He then couldn’t move for a solid ten minutes for the hugs and suggestions - a few of them dirty. He blamed Connie for that. She was an old horn dog disguised as a sweet church goer.

 

Evie’s eyes sparkle at the ring he’d earned _so_ hard to get. Prison hadn’t scared him. But braving room full of southern grannies - no mistake- it had been _terrifying_. The second time in his adult life he’d been scared.

 

“Kylo-“ She clasps a hand over her heart. It beat so wildly against her palm like a mad fevered little thing.

 

“I don’t even need a second to think about it.” She says.

 

“My god.  _Yes_.” She gasps out. She’s out her chair.

 

She’s moving. When did she stand? The ring box is crushed in her palm and then she’s in his lap. Dribbling tears and kissing him so hard she feels like she’s bubble over with the love and excitement. She could rocket right up to the moon and skip on over it, the mood she’s in.

 

He smiles. Chuckles gladly and then kisses her right back. Slings an arm over her back. Nuzzles into her neck where she’s splayed onto him. Gripping his hair. Feeling the entirety of the man she’ll marry underneath her. Solid and string and as sure as the day she met him, all those eons back.

 

“Come here...” He mumbles softly. Lips kissing into her neck where he speaks, deep commanding words damp and rumbling her skin.

 

She pulls back from the crushing hold, sat back. He reaches for the box. Plucks the ring out of it. Reaches to hold her left hand fingers. Slides the ring onto the fourth one. Still had that autumn spice polish on her nails from the opera.

 

They sit for a moment and marvel at the sight of it on her hand. It feels weighty. Feels right. He nuzzles his nose to her neck. Pushes it into her jaw. Takes a deep drag of her perfume. His _fiancée_.

 

“I never thought I’d see this ring again.” She says quietly. He cups her hip in warm support.

 

“I know. Flo said. I feel honoured to be the one give it. Because it means more to you than any store bought ring I could lay my hands on.” He takes her hand and kisses the cool diamond with his big plush lips.

 

“And I want the best for you, always. _Wife_.” He smarts all smug. She cups his cheek. Smooches him for that. Her body is one long jumble of love and happy nerves tangled up like knotted wire.

 

They hug together. She slides her hands around the crisp shirt nape of his neck. Rests her forehead by the side of his. They sit and look at the sky that’s shifting into night. Brushing peach into a wash of drippy full blue. Evie takes a second to look at the disappearing sun.

 

Words leap out before she can stop them. “Let’s do it here... the wedding.” She gets out all sudden.

 

He tilts his head. “Here?” He seeks. He’d thought she’d want a sweet little chapel affair back home. Groomsmen all in stuff suits. Bridesmaids. Horse and carriage. All of that.

 

“I’d marry you right here over this bloody table if it was allowed.” She smiles. Little face so proud and earnest he never doubted her words even for a second. That melts his nonexistent heart right down to a puddle. Again.

 

“Technically we can, of course.” Then he frowns. Big brows pulling down in confusion. “Don’t you want a ceremony back home?”

 

“I just want to marry you on this most perfect vineyard.” She nods to the horizon. “And I want our vows to have _that_ sunset.” Gesturing out to the inky blue night that’s strangling out all other colour in the sky.

 

Kylo’s smiling. Pats her thigh.

 

“Do you think we can we do it?” She asks all hopeful.

 

She loves him. Honest-to-god-fully- adores him. If that can be so. Then anything is possible.

 

“You bet we can.” He grins back. Pecking her on the lips. Savouring a slow kiss for a moment.

 

“Could have a dinner and exchange vows on the vineyard.” He says. She nods gleefully. Bursting with golden melting happy. Pouring out of her like marigold sunshine.

 

“Tomorrow too soon?” She dares.

 

_Lord_ , he’ll kiss her so damn hard for that when he gets her alone, later. Maybe in bed.

 

Maybe he’ll fuck her into next week and beyond for saying yes- he definitely will. And he’ll kiss that he loves her through every second of pounding her senseless til she can’t walk.

 

“Maybe a little. Might need a couple days to plan. Get everything together.” He says with a slowly building smile.

 

“What about you?” She asks. “I didn’t even ask what you wanted...” She adds guiltily.

 

“I want to be married to _you_. I don’t mind however in the hell I get that to happen.” He says honestly.

 

He’d stand at that nonexistent altar wearing a clown costume and full makeup if that’s what it took to bind them in holy matrimony.

 

She cups his neck again. Kisses him. Two lovers. Chiaroscuro in candle light and the oncoming rush of a cobalt eclipsing night.

 

“I’ll call the owner in the morning.” He says. Kissing her engagement ring again. Gold cool against his mouth.

 

“You happy?” He asks her.

 

“Way too much.” She answers. _The best answer._

 

They snuggle up and watch the rest of the coppery fading sunset. He liked how he can feel the cool weight of the ring through his thin cotton shirt where her hands rest wrapped around him in a hug.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me 💕 I’m ready for the fallout of this...


	56. Planning & Forethought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh I uh, should mention; it’s super porny.
> 
> I am so so so pumped that I’m taking the last few chaps of this fic with me into 2020 💕 honestly cannot put into words the wonderfulness of the friends, the love, and the support this fic has brought me. 
> 
> My biggest blessing of 2019; starting this dark rollercoaster of a love fic and meeting all you lovely treasures- so a heartfelt Thankyou and a hearty happy NYE to each of you ✨⭐️
> 
> Each comment and kudos and hit gives me thrills beyond measure 💓 And I would like to once again thank Mel for helping me so heckin much with the crafted ideas behind this. My friend and my second blessing - keeping me true (And less sappy lol)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evie woke the next morning to a hot pair of lips at her ear.

 

“Morning kitten.” Kylo smooches sticky wet on her neck. Pressed over the lower lobe of her ear.

 

She’s dipping into the soft mattress. Body kissing into the soft of it - pressed there by his chest at her back. Hips nudged into the curve of her ass. Arms holding his body up by either side of her shoulders. Thin sheets dripping cotton over the both of their waists. It was so muggy in here at night. They barely need more than the thin cotton that gently caresses them.

 

He’s kissing her and it’s all one long meeting and moulding of soft sleepy skin. Warm from slumber. Soft and hot in amongst the crispness of the best cotton sheets. The room is baking burning bright with the greenest scents of bay and olive from the gardens. The air so thick with it it’s like a spray of perfume inhaled with intaking each breath. Evie can taste the air. Right now, of course, she can also taste the sourness of sleep heavy on her lips.

 

She’s barely awake and she groans all lazy happy- really she can make no other noise but one of pure indulgent bliss. His hands are on her. He’s kissing her neck. It’s all bliss. Hot sticky, the musk and spice of sweat and it’s _good_.

 

He’s hard already. That’s his permanent state most mornings. This morning, this beautiful beautiful Italian spring morning is no different.

 

He’s grunting in her ear already. Hot whispers from his lips are muggy and wispy-scratches from his unshaven chin at her neck - a raging roughness to tease at her softness. His heavy thick cock is ground by his hips into her round pert ass that he loves beyond measure.

 

He looks right down. Watches how the silky gloss of his precome is painted silver across her skin. He’d tugged the sheets off her to see. Cool rushing in where cotton sheets are tugged away. Besides, daffodil sunshine was just starting to creep up her side of the bed.

 

With any luck, they’ll be piled in a big heap in a great splash of it soon. Watery honey light filtering through the doors and the thick weighty curtains. Painting them with butter-gold from the open terrace doors. Casting over naked skin as they fuck and sweat and rut, and cum together.

 

Kylo loves the way her pussy is already flooding for his cock when he grabs the thick base and drags it against her. Parting her petaled scorching heat with the head of his leaking dick. He enjoys dragging it through the lips of her cunt to tease.

 

She’s mumbling his name. Clutching onto the pillows. Face creased, eyes shut in bliss. He moans stroking himself against her. He so badly wants to stretch that tight pussy of hers open. But he needs to get her slicker first. Wants her dripping and ready. He continues to stroke himself off with firm tugging grips, fist slicked with precome, he’s kissing her shoulder up and up. Mumbling soft words to her. Lands on her skin, wispy, like dust mites.

 

“Turn over. Let me eat that cunt.” He demands with a smirk. Smile buried in her hot neck. He sucks away the sweat gathering there. Either from sleep. Or from how much he’s working her up and turning her on. Big body atop hers, humping into her.

 

She hesitates when he slips a big hand under her thigh to flip her over. _God he can’t wait._ Bury his face in that pink sloppy sweet cunt he loves ravaging with his tongue. Her toes curl and she peers up at him with this resolute little look of wilfulness in her agean eyes. The colour of dark stormy seas. Or midnight ink backdrop of a sky when the stars come up bright to dominate it. Her eyes grow so dark when they’re like this. He drowns in them. Gladly so.

 

“Maybe I can-“ She starts. Wetting her lips as she watches his hand squeeze at his impatient cock. Red thick and swollen hard in his hand. _So heavy too._ Her stomach lurched. Watching him crumble to pieces stroking his own cock? _Oh_ , Nothing was hotter than that sight.

 

He peers up at her. Taking his eyes away for a second from the gorgeous satiny pink spread of her wet pussy. He meets her eyes. He slinks down to the bed. Hands smoothing up over the round of each thigh. Noses into that pretty cunt. Presses the tip of his nose right onto her clit. Dragging in deep. Getting a good inhale of her scent. “Tell me.” He kisses into her soft mound. Tongue now tipping hungrily at her clit.

 

“I want to -sit on your face.” She gets out. Blushing right down her neck. From her cheeks. To the top of her tits. Raising as she breathes. Buds of coral nipples hardened in the cooler air that’s drifting in through the terrace doors. He smirks up at her. She’s all messy hair. Sweet flushed tits and rosy cheeks. Eyes as dark as kyanite stones.

 

“Oh?” He asks. Sucking on her clit. Fully drawing it in his mouth. Pulling his head back and teasing it mercilessly with his plump lips. Letting it slither slowly out his mouth as he sucked on it. He watches her grab for whatever’s near in bliss. Pillows. Cushioned headboard. His listens to her nails rake it. Taste of her pussy now coats his tongue.

 

He crawls up the bed, over her body and rolls her over him. Head cushioned on his pillow. Cause he definitely wants the scent of her that drools down his neck soaking into the cotton of his pillow. Ready for him to find there later. He takes her thigh and guides it so she’s over his shoulders. Pinning him down.

 

“You always ask me so fucking politely. Kitten. How could I say no.” He smirks tilting his head back, nudging at her ass with both hands, cupping it and getting her to shift up closer. Let’s her hook her hands to the headboard as she gets her cunt on his face. She’s near his chin now and he’s genuinely drooling for the sweet thing.

 

She carefully manoeuvres over his face. Careful to keep herself from crushing him. She never would. He loves how tentatively she goes about it. Treats him like he’s made of glass. Maybe one day she’ll be brave enough to pin him down, fist a hand in his hair and slam her pussy to grind on his face. Wrap those lovely thighs about his neck and go to town. Hold him down as she cum’s in his mouth. But that wasn’t really his Evie. She was still reticent.

 

For now - he’ll be the rough one. He hooks his hands into her thighs and yanks her down. Right onto his lips. Tongue sloshes and slides up and curls through her sex. As far as he was concerned, she could use his face to get off every day from now, til their lives end. He’d welcome it. His favourite place in the entire world - between her thighs. Having this best pussy sat on his face only heightened that favouritism.

 

He stuck out his tongue, wide and flat. Grabs her hips and grinds her pussy and her clit down on his tongue. She’s scrabbling to hold the headboard above him. One hand holding gently to his hair. She feels how that tips up his smirk.

 

_Oh_ , the noises she makes. Noises he adores. Not only coming from her pleasured mouth. But also spilling from her squelching cunt. Wet and drooling down his big chin as he nuzzles his nose into her. Laps up all she gives. Draws those secretive shapes with the tip of his clever tongue that knew this sweet private place so well. She bucks so gently. Thighs twitching where they’re clamped about his face. The gorgeous plushy soft things he loves.

 

He brings his hands up and fondles the thick of her pert round ass. Hums appreciatively into her cunt. Groaning as she squelches and her cream slips down his throat. Big tongue battering her puffy pink clit from side to side. Pressing it in circles, making her clench around his tongue when he slips inside.

 

She looks down, head hanging between her thighs. Seeing his upper face in bliss. Eyes lidded and dark. Rolling back in his head. She can feel his body twitch too. She doesn’t need to glance back to know that his hips are leaping into the air as he humps for friction that isn’t there. Big cock left there, hard, red and swollen-desperate, leaking obscenely.

 

He’s enjoying himself immensely. One big paw wanders up her body to clutch at one of her tits. Pinching and tugging ever so slightly. Her lovely thighs tense around his head. She makes a noise like she’s suddenly dying. Groaning and moaning long and loud. Tugging on his hair. Full well knowing that only makes him worse.

 

He claws into her thighs. Fucks her on his tongue. Spreads her open with the wet talented muscle and shoved it right on in. Swirling and sucking. Shame his tongue wasn’t long enough to reach at her g-spot. He’d go crazy on curling his tongue against it until he has her sobbing. He’ll have that anyway. But likes how he can achieve her tears and sobs merely _just_ by using his tongue on her.

 

She’s sloppy hot on his mouth. Taste of her everywhere. She feels his smirk when he nudged his nose and lips into her. Just moving his face to catch at every nerve. She rolls and shifts her hips a little to get the perfect grinding angle.

 

“That’s it baby-“ He smacks a sloppy kiss to the softness of mound above her clit. “Fuck that’s it. Rub that pussy on me.” He groans like he’s in agony. Cunt so good it’s making his cock ache.

 

Saliva and her and drool is now slipping down his mouth. He keeps pausing to lick his lips. Drink her pussy down like the anointed blessed wine it is to him. He worships between her legs like it’s a sacred altar. Forever will.

 

Evie loves how he moans from tasting her. Always does. Humming in her. Is always ready and willing to dive between her thighs and lick her up real good. Suckle her clit and finger her into a squirting loud orgasm - anytime, anyplace. He loves using his big hands on her. _In_ her. In her so deep sometimes he swore to god he could feel her heartbeat tremble through her silken walls.

 

He can’t talk much more with his mouth so full - so he decides to make her cum instead. He can run his mouth for miles when he fucks her. Cause he will most definitely be fucking her after this. The stiffness of his cock demands it.

 

They had an appointment to meet the chef for a wine tasting and menu sampling up on the Vineyard restaurant terrace at noon. It was just past nine now. He had a good couple of hours to indulge in slowly fucking her. Slowly eating and then fucking his _fiancée_ s wonderful pussy.

 

_Fuck_. Even that dangerous thought makes him tremble. She’s his fiancée now. She’s wearing _his_ engagement ring on her finger. _Holy fuck_ his cock throbs painful with that.

 

She’s bracing her hands on the headboard now. Crying for him. Holding his hair as her hips hump gently into his face. All flushed from her belly to her tits. Bouncing as she moves. Sweat is pouring off her too. Sliding down her body from the exertion. Nothing deters Kylo from wanting to get her gushing in his mouth. He finally gets it. The blessed rain of her release.

 

She shudders and her pink perfect pussy pulses and flutters at his tongue. Thighs trembling she cums right there, on his face. Mostly all over his chin. He sticks his tongue up into her and laps up what he can. Wet sounds of her cumming like manna to his ears. He strokes her thighs and eases her through it. Licking slower. Pulling off her pussy with a slurping pop after she rode out the last thrill of pleasure.

 

She sags upright to the headboard. Knees trembling. Thighs shining wet. Corresponding to the soaked lower half of his face. He gets behind her and drags her hips to his. So they clash together. Really cause he’s so strong he can get her and have her any way he wants. And he wants her on her front - and he wants her right now. _Needs_ her in fact.

 

She groans feeling his hard on rub at her backside. She stabs her knees into the bed and savours the delicious feeling of one big hand of his steadying her still quaking hips as he guides his fat cock head inside her.

 

Her pussy flutters and snaps down around his cock in a tight tight tight sheath. Velvety wet walls like drenched silk clamping down on him. He moans. Moans a purely orgasmic deep sound that has Evie clutching claw marks in the mattress.

 

_God_ , his voice.

 

He tips his head back to the ceiling. Neck stretched right back. Throat exposed. Mouth falling open. Long and slow moan. He’s only halfway in her and it’s already so fucking good it’s got his black eyes rolling back in his head.

 

“Love how sloppy-wet you are after I eat your pussy, baby.” He smirks. Sinks deeper. Shuffled closer to her on his knees. Moulding their sweaty bodies as one. He grunts. Hands still clawed into her ass.

 

“Ugh. Listen to that-“ He snaps his hips into her deep. Sheathing his cock fully in her cunt. Slapping and slurping his big way into her wet pussy. “Hear that? Fuck- Listen to yourself kitten.” He demonstrates. Thrusting into her. Letting her hear the liquid slap of their hips meeting. The obscene porny sounds of her squelching cunt being fucked hard. She’s drenching him.

 

She’s blushing right down to her toes. Just trying to concentrate on taking him.

 

He looks down his front, down his flushed tatted belly, watches his dick sink in and out of her where they’re joined. Rosy red. Sheening with her previous messy orgasm. He fucking loves how she gets all over him when he pounds her like this. He’s left dripping with her slick.

 

He smirks a moan. Watching his hand travel over her plump ass. Grabbing it. Watching her flesh snap back into place as he grabs the back of her hip and guides her back and forth on him. Fucking her slow - but deep. _Sososo fucking_ deep _._ So deep tears spring to her eyes on the first thrust. He’s too much. Always too much. That monstrous girth and lengthy cock of his. Always gets her weeping for him.

 

“I can feel how slippery and tight you are baby. I’m fucking your sweet little pussy open. And you love it. You love your _fiancé’s_ cock, now don’t you kitten?” He seeks. Winding his fingers through her hair and tugging slightly.

 

Bringing her head back so he can lay his lips along the side of her temple. Still snapping those big hips and fucking that big cock inside her.

 

She’s sobbing her reply. “ _Yesyes_. Yes I love it.” She gasps. Moaning around her words.

 

“Good girl.” He grins. “Cause it’s all yours. All twelve inches of me is yours.” He rewards her with two thick fingers perching over her clit and rubbing circles. Chuckling for a second.

 

_“Oh fuck_ baby. That pretty cunt is dripping messy all over me.” He tells her. Reaching for her hand. Guiding it between their legs. Getting her to cup his balls. Sticky wet with slick. She groans.

 

“That’s _all_ you.” He tells her. Pulling her right up so her back is to his chest. One hand gripping the back of her neck. The other hand wandered between her legs. Softly strumming circles on her puffy pink clit.

 

She’s sees why he’s pulled her up when she catches sight of their sweaty pink reflections in the mirror on the headboard wall. There they are. Central in the studded silver frame. Giving themselves to each other. His hand grips her throat and his dirty mouth is scorching blazing muggy heat over her ear. Puffing her hair out the way. His cheeks are rosebud pink. And his eyes are fixed on their reflection

 

“Look at us...” He smirks. Watching her face as he rubs her clit and fucks her real good. “Don’t we look fucking good? You just love it when I pound you like this huh kitten.” He tells her.

 

She brings her left hand up to clutch over his on her neck. He smiles at the glimmer of gold and diamond that slashes at his eyes when she moves her hand. They looked damn good together. He always thought so. Especially now they’re enshrined in that butter yellow italian morning sunshine. It seeps off them like liquid gold. Making them look godly. Otherworldly. Sweaty and rutting like animals. _Glorious_.

 

_Maybe that’s just how he feels when he’s inside her. It’s hard to distinguish which._

His words make her pussy snap down around him. Clenching in tight. Drawing him right the hell in. No space to spare. He groans into her neck in the mirror. Her hands now tangling in his piecey sweaty hair. He chuckles as if in disbelief

 

“ _Shit_. Baby.” He chuckles. “You like that hmm? Like me telling you how this sweet cunt is so tight and wet, it sucks my cock right back in when I fuck you. _So desperate_ for me to fuck you more.” He drawls.

 

The way they’re positioned now means he pistons his cock into her slower. Fucking up into her gentler. She looks at him in the mirror.

 

“Kylo?” She gasps.

 

He sucks on her neck. “Yeah, baby?” He smiles. Teeth around her pulse point. Words humming wet into her throat.

 

“Fuck me.” She gasps breathy. “Please.” She begs. He _loves_ it when she begs.

 

He grabs the back of her neck, abandons rubbing her clit to grip it. Within seconds her front is slammed into the bed. He drags her ass up, opens her legs, grabs both her hips and fucks her good and hard. Real deep. Like she likes it.

 

“That it?” He asks through pounding her senseless. Her sweet little body bouncing to the mattress then back to his hips. He’d give anything to see that pretty face all creased up in agony now. Wet squelching pussy being split open on his cock relentlessly.

 

He groans. Feeling her clamp down on him. He watches her pussy stretching to take him.

 

“My wife wants to be fucked? She gets fucked. And fucked _hard_.” He pledges. But he’s not done.

 

“My wife gets anything her heart fucking desires.” He adds in a promised low growl. Listening to the slap and snap of their bodies.

 

How she’s so sloppy around him he can feel her spurting down his body. Dribbling to the mattress below. He’s panting hard cause this pussy is always too good to resist. Distracting himself from impending orgasm. He reaches for her hair again. Tugs on it. Wrenches it back to listen to her moan. She gasps at the sudden sting.

 

“Isn’t that right?” He asks. Licking kisses and stabbing hickies up her neck.

 

“Y-yes Kylo.” She whines. He lightly slaps her ass. Listens to the smack. Watches her flesh jiggle. He moans a proud noise. Lessens his grip a little on her tumbled hair.

 

He savours the wetness still spilling out of her. Refocuses on loosing himself in fucking her. Needless to say, he gets there quick. Too good, too wet, too perfect to resist. He clamps all of her hips with his big hands and starts fucking them both fast to completion.

 

He has her screaming into the mattress and biting down the cotton sheets when she cums.

 

He follows a second later. Pussy fluttering down so tight on him it was mad how quickly it made him cum. He vices her hips enough to bruise and pumps his hot heavy load into her til he’s over-sensitised. Pulls out and admires the creamy wet mess that they made together. Gazes longingly at how he drools out her cunt.

 

He watches beads of them roll down the insides of her thighs. Sticky silver on rosy pink in the sunlight. He can’t resist the temptation. He brings a hand up and presses his thumb through her swollen rosy pussy that’s leaking and stringing with him.

 

“So pretty baby.” He mumbles to her. Pretty certain she’s sagged out limp on the mattress like a boned fish. She still groans. Sleepy mouth falling into a round ‘ _oh._ ’ Otherwise she’s unable to move from such a savage hard ruthless fucking.

 

His ears still ring with her shouts, the snap of their bodies meeting. He’s still hard. But now he’s spent one load, he feels slightly more on the side of sated. Still itching for more-

 

He leans over and kisses at the shell of her sweaty ear. “I will have to fill your pussy up again before we go wine tasting.” He smiles. Patting her ass. Evie smiles her bliss into the cotton sheets. Mumbling a dazed sound into the pillows as he stalks off on those big strong thighs to the bathroom.

 

Kylo is indomitable with his promises. He does fuck her again.

 

Spreads her out on their bed and grinds his cock into her low and slow. Letting the friction of their bodies burn and sweat together. She’s arching her back off the bed and clamping his hips with her thighs when she orgasms again.

 

Kylo growls in her ear as he makes her cum again. “You better ruin this fucking mattress baby. I wanna feel it.” He smirks as he plucks her apart piece by piece. She’s barely hanging onto her sanity by the time he’s finished edging her to orgasm - He never was any good at leaving her in agony for more, for very long.

 

The cotton sheets have long since been kicked to the floor. The pillows are scattered lost across the bed. And Evie is dozing on a damp patch in the sunshine on that bed before long. Where her limbs fell? Was how she slept. Spread out. Thighs shiny. Body flushed from fucking.

 

Kylo would have married her in the middle of that sweaty fucking-stained bed, right then and there, if he could’ve. Watching her rest and sleep like a sleepy golden angel in the sun. Hair shining amber-chestnut. Skin peachy soft.

 

Gold band glimmering off her hand like a mirror sparkling in the sun.

 

“I can’t fucking wait to marry you.” He grumbles, licking and sucking into her sweaty skin. Rubbing his nose into the valley between her tits as she lays there all uncurled, toffee limbed and buzzing off the bliss of many orgasms. Supine on the bed like a Grecian goddess resting in her hill top marble temple, perched on the salty blue sea on a Greek isle.

 

She brings her left hand up and rakes through his shaggy hair. Combing the ink tresses. He devours the feeling of the ring scraping over his scalp. She strokes the hair back from his head and admires him with a sleepy glaze overtaking her contented, flushed face.

 

“I can’t wait to be your wife, Kylo.” She smiles.  
  
  


His flinty eyes glimmer all proud hearing her confess to that.

 

She has a sneaky feeling that when they are finally married, the honeymoon lust will begin anew. They’ll find it even more impossible to venture out of bed for any decent length of time, than they ever have before.

 

They stay naked until the very last second they can. Cooling off in a tepid shower and rushing to dress to get to the wine tasting for the rehearsal dinner. They just make it on time. Still buttoning up as they walk through the sun drenched vineyard. He opted for a duck egg blue kitsuné shirt. And dark black trousers and boots. She went for something she could slip on quickly, which turned out to be a halter dress. Modest little thing. He left the Marilyn Monroe quips aside.

 

She looked entirely too good in it now her skin is slightly less pale and slightly more sun kissed golden. He can see her back and shoulders where it cuts away and ties around her neck. No bra. That gets him going. Seeing the navy fabric dotted with white vines and coral-peach flowers, resting next to her purely naked back. Hair down. Skirts swaying around her knees as she walks alongside him. Grandma Winslow’s bracelet crowning her wrist. Ring enshrined happy on her hand.

 

They wind their way through the luscious green of the grape vines. Kicking up dusty-sand of earth behind them. Clouding behind their steps. Eaten up into the greenery and the blaze of noon. Sun dotted blazing white at its highest point in the clear sky.

 

They get to the vineyard terrace. Not yet baked by the sun. The cool stone courtyard lined with trees sprinkled with festoon lights. Not only is the chef there waiting on them. But also the whole estate owner and the Events manager. Evie twines her fingers through his. Two well dressed Italian men, and the woman who managed the vineyards events from weddings to anniversary’s.

 

“Quite the reception committee.” She smiles to him sweetly.

 

“Well, It’s good publicity for the vineyard. Valentina told me they don’t get many high profile weddings here anymore. A magazine here wants to cover it. And I put a call into the owner last night. He’s happy to offer complimentary champagne, and a free rehearsal dinner.”

 

Evie’s smiling. “That’s so lovely.”

 

But kylo can see the gleam of it falls away in her eyes slightly. He squeezes her hand and holds it with both of hers. Clasps it between her tiny dainty things. He’s urging her on. Flinty eyes sparking all charcoal-grey and serious.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s just, it’ll be _only_ us at the rehearsal dinner. It’s just a shame Flo and Arthur and Ben, and some of the folks back home can’t be here.” She tells. Saddened but not wrecked by the thought.

 

Kylo grabs her hand. “I know.” He did know. He understood what little selected family she had and all they meant to her. He didn’t want her saddened by all the folks they’ll be missing back home as they take this next monumental step in their lives.

 

“We can have however many ceremonies you want when we get home. You can invite the whole damn state if needs be.” He tells her. Tucking a strand of amber-chestnut-gold hair back behind her ear. Wavy from the damp steam of their shower.

 

He meant it too. If they had to hire out the biggest hall they could find in the state area and cram it full with all the crazy loving people she adores, he’ll do it in a New York minute.

 

She smiles up at her fiancée. Always ten steps ahead of her wishes. Keeping her happy on the peripheral. Even when she couldn’t see it. Or notice it. Kylo was always working towards keeping her smile bright.

 

“Can we have the photographer take a metric tonne of photos to take home?” She asks. He strokes her knuckles with his thumb.

 

“Anything you want baby. You got it.” He assures her. Just like that. Cushioning a plump lipped kiss to the back of her hand. Knowing full well she won’t ask for much more. He’ll give it all to her anyway.

 

They hold hands right up to the merry party awaiting to greet them. They all shake hands and even get offered a tour of the vineyard cellars to choose some vintage bottles before the menu tasting. Kylo gladly takes them up on it. They get to hear a first hand account of the estates rich history, dated right back to the 14th Century. Through two Italian families battling a feud over the land - Evie said it sounded positively Shakespearean.

 

They walk through the dusty old brick cellars, arched high with golden-biscuit stone. Ancient sun baked dirt and dust and green vines a heavy tonic tang in the air. Kylo is in his element. Talking to the owner. Both big CEO’s with plenty to discuss. Evie talks to Maria, the lovely Italian woman who coordinated the events that mostly took place just above them from the cellar they’re standing in. The chef, Marco, had to peel away from their tour to see to the tasting menu upstairs.

 

Evie’s excited to get to talk about the details of their wedding with Maria. They discuss the table, the flowers, the cake and the location of the rehearsal dinner. It was settled that it would be in the actual vineyard grounds. Surrounded by the olive trees. They were putting lights up to make it festive as they speak. Cast iron antique chairs and an old long oak table carried out. A small affair. But full of heart. Kylo smiles thinking how appropriate that is.

 

They settle on old country French - much like the vineyard hotel decor. Old beige and grey accented with teal green and gold. Like the vineyard horizon on a golden sunset. Antique gold cutlery and candlesticks, olive and bay branches for the central table garland. Set upon a simple linen white runner. Mint napkins rolled and tied with smoky velvet ribbon. Antique eggshell scalloped chinaware. And French goblets for the wine.

 

Table crowned with old metal jugs of dried green and blush pink hydrangeas at intervals. Because Evie loves the colours. And that inconspicuous flower had been on the table with them when he’d proposed.

 

Kylos smiling all the way though tasting the wine and watching her sort through the sample settings and cutlery with Maria. Evie isn’t a dithering bride-to-be - she’s actually fairly cutthroat and precise. No nonsense approach. Doesn’t get sidetracked and knows what she wants.

 

He lets Evie talk about the minute details for the decor and the flowers. That was her scene after all. She was the gardener of the two of them. He’d love whatever she picks because he knows it would be tasteful and the fact that it would make her happy is just about the biggest fringe benefit of all.

 

He doesn’t mind what his wedding looks like. He just wants it soon - so she can share in his name and be the best thing about him.

 

Table and decor accents chosen, they sit down properly for the wine and menu tasting. Even though they’re cutting through the wine with gorgeous food that the head chef, Marco, prepared for them. Evie still gets tipsy far too quick. Mainly as Angelo, the very nice old Italian owner, insisted on bottles of the Vineyards finest vintage champagne to all toast their nuptials. Krug 2004 vintage. It slips down their throats like honey sparkling in the sun. Fruity and tang and Marvellous. He spoils them with two bottles of it before they even reach the starters.

 

Marco provides them such an array of fantastic Italian dishes they’re in agony trying to chose the best ones. Rabbit minestrone steals the show as the starter. A simple tomato essence soup studded with beans, basilico, pasta and olives. With seasoned shredded rabbit being the most rich flavour. So thick it was more a stew. But it was superb. That was Kylo’s choice. Evie couldn’t fault it. A velvet red chianti to go with it - also his choice. Three glasses in at this point and she’s wavering on the wobbly side of tipsy.

 

“You know you don’t have to drink the whole glass, kitten?” He leans over and says low, smiling in her ear after her third glass breaking into a fourth. Very clearly on her way to slightly drunk.

 

“That would be incredibly rude to the wine.” She frowns all sarky. He lets her drink on. Still smiling at her. The wall of windows behind them side swipes sunshine across his eyes. The warm discs of his usually cold eyes are now walnut-honey. Just glazed with it. With love. It pours out through his look.

 

Mainly also because her hand is on his knee most of the entire time they sample the contenders for the main course. He doesn’t mind. He likes that she’s cutely coming onto him where others can’t see. Something slightly bold about it that he loves coming from her. He loves her tipsy smile. It’s wide and her cheeks are pink. She’s talking to Marco about the duck ravioli they’re trying and he’s just savouring the sight of her pretty pretty face.

 

Between duck ravioli, Scallops braised with chorizo, peas, and sun dried tomatoes, and a beautiful linguine with clams and white wine. They opt for the scallops with a crisp white Moscato.

 

The mains, for their rehearsal dinner is a roasted quail. Basted in a white wine thyme and shallot sauce, with olives capers and lemons. The vineyard classic. Served with a Sangiovese that Kylo loves so much. Ironically another name for roasted quail was ‘lovebirds’. Kylo usually pushed against sappy mannerisms, but he couldn’t deny the loving sentiment of the dish and the sheer amount of thought that went into its creation. The way Evie and him almost lick the plate clean with the morsels of crusty bread provided is enough of an answer.

 

The morsel delicate recipe for lovebirds just _had_ to be their wedding meal. There can be no question about it. Not when it tastes so delectable it makes them look forwards to their wedding day even more.

 

Evie is completely tipsy - so she lets him choose their pudding. He does her most proud. A Marsala sponge shell filled with coffee and hazelnut ice cream. Topped with raspberries and pistachios and piped bitter chocolate hearts. He feeds her the last raspberry on the plate. Decides on a dessert Moscato d’Asti wine with Marco. Then he kisses that tart fruit taste of it off her lips not a second later. She tastes like the crush of wine and then the sour burst of berries. _Delicious_.

 

They finish up with the head chef and give him their profound thanks for such a wonderful tasting menu. The owner walks with them back to the hotel. Through the vineyard vines. Smell of green and grapes fill the air. Birds swoop overhead in the St. Giles full flush of the sky.

 

He bids them goodbye at the walled door to their private pool suite. Kylo invited him to the wedding as a Thankyou for the whole thing. The complimentary champagne. Letting them practically have the run of the place. Kylo’s paid out extraordinary amounts to get this five star estate for their wedding. It seemed polite to respond in kind. It seemed like something warm-hearted that his Evie would do.

 

They walk across the terrace and back into their suite. She’s in the spa this afternoon for a back massage. He’s determined to be a man of leisure and laziness by the pool. The gorgeous tasting menu was a very adequate lunch. He quite fancies a nice long doze in the sunshine on one of the loungers.

 

Evie goes off and slips into the hotel robe and flip flop slippers. Padding back out to the sunny terrace where he’s in his bathing shorts and cartier shades. Hair all rumpled and ruffled in the spring breeze. Those strong trunks of tatted thighs stretched out like the mighty things they were. iPad in his lap. Though he’s no intention of doing any work on it.

 

He catches onto her hand as she sidles up to him. Links their fingers to twine together. He feels her in and she pats his cheek and kisses his hair. Her big man. He always smells so gorgeous. Aqua Di Parma products melting off his skin with his cologne. To take him in is a big deep breath of delicious.

 

She does just that. Links a hand around his neck and kisses the top of his head. He rests the side of his face against her where she’s stood. Pressing into her ribs. The soft of her tummy shrouded in the thick towelling gown. Hotel initials swirled in gold thread on the breast pocket.

 

“See you in a little while, my love.” She smiles. Plucking a gentle kiss at his cheek. He turns his head after she pulls back. Nose nudges hers. Drags in the smell of hotel linen and the gingery spiced air of their suite. Hint of her sticky body lotion and jasmine Coco Chanel seeping through the fuzzy flannel.

 

He peers up and curls a little smile at her. Sun bounces in stripes off his expensive black lenses. “Go get pampered, Kitten.” He smirks lightly. He likes the thought that she’d be looking and feeling beautiful for tonight. For their meal.

 

She’s looking at him with stars of glittery love in her eyes. His ring charming and unbelievably real - _and right there_ \- on her finger. Standing proud.

 

Evie was one of the first people to ever be _proud_ about the fact that her name was linked to his.

 

She walks away, glowing white gown under that brilliant sun. He lays his iPad aside. Flexes his arms and bends them to cradle behind his neck. Folded out. His legs were splayed wide open. Straining at his black Burberry bathing shorts where his stout thighs stretch them out.

 

He lets his head tip right back to the chair. Cushioned on it. He watches the tips of the trees sway and dip in the breeze. Powder blue gentle sky so calm and quiet. That same breeze puckers and drifts over his exposed skin. Before he knows it. Watching the tips of those olive and cypress trees kiss at the sky pulls him into rest. Lulls him into it completely.

 

He’s always been a light sleeper. Always too distracted and focused on other things to take the time to rest. He’d never needed it. Bothered with it. But since Evie he’s found it easier and easier to switch off his mind. With her it quietens. It’s less of an angry infuriating loud mess. Like a knotted ball of wire all tangled up and scratched. It feels like she’s unpicked the messiest parts. Soothes. Calms.

 

He noticed he still scowls at people. He’s still impatient. He’s still sociopathic. There will always be nasty parts about him that will never shift. Half constructed savage parts deep down that are ruthless. Bits of himself that he isn’t proud to show. But he feels less... edgy, when he’s with her. He feels like he can take a fucking long breath. And it’s a wonderful thing to feel like that after years of partners who grind his teeth to dust and raise his blood pressure to boil in irritation.

 

_Ah_. How mighty that the love of a good person could move mountains. It’s certainly moved him. The great hulking pinnacle of a violent man that he is. And there’s no mistaking - she loves on him _deep_. Right to his core. Right to the marrow of his bones.

 

His mind sinks, churning away quiet peaceful things as he rests. Doesn’t notice that an hours ticked by. The sun scarpering across the sky like a dashing smear of yellow mustard. He sees none of it. He hears it. The scuttle of leaves bashing on the wind. Quiet tumult of nature tossing and rolling over the divine landscape.

 

He doesn’t hear the door by the pool go. The metal latch slotting back into place. Doesn’t hear the footsteps patter softly across on the creamy sun-baked flagstones. Doesn’t see that she’s back from her massage.

 

He does however, feel when a perfectly silky sweet pair of lips kiss his. His sun warmed mouth takes a second to respond. Pulled back to the actuality of earth. She’s kissing the butter sunshine drips off the cracks in his lush lips. Taste of sweat on him.

 

He rouses slowly. Kissing her back. Even when his sunglasses press awkward into her forehead during the embrace. Kylo leans up to kiss her harder but she breaks away. He exhales with need when she pulls that sweet mouth off him.

 

“Keep your eyes closed.” She hushes to him.

 

“Why’s that?” He counters back with a smirk. His eyes spring open cause he never ever will do as he’s told.

 

His answer comes when she drags her hands right on down his chest. Such soft pretty hands. Warm at his tough skin. Cupping over his big pecs, brushing his nipple rings. Sliding down and down and down. Over ribs. Over his panting belly.

 

His mouth drops open, frown tugs when she sets her lips on the sparse fuzz of his happy trail that disappeared below the hem of his shorts sat low on his dark inked hips.

 

She’s still kissing lower and _lower_ -

 

Deft, knowing little hands gently hook and press down the elasticated band of his swimwear, drawing them to the rest at the junction of his thighs. Baring his cock to her in it’s intimidating entirety. Laying limp against his thigh. But it’s twitching pulsing to life now.

 

He doesn’t obey her command to keep his eyes shut. He lifts his head and watches. Wants to watch her swallow him right the fuck down. Wants to see the line of his dick in her throat.

 

She has her affectionate right hand now gently cupping his cock and stroking along where it’s rested half hard against his thigh. It has no problem in swelling up and filling out quick. Had done since the first contact on her lips on his skin. _Damn_ maddening that. He gets hard just from her kisses.

 

When he’s fully hard, leaking and ready, he groaned. Standing proud and erect and pulsing for whatever treat she had in mind. Her hands skim under his shorts and rest on his upper thighs. Palms brushing the coarse wiry hair smattered there.

 

She licks a slow stripe right up him. He moans outright.

 

It was no kept secret how _big_ he was. How thick and sturdy and intimidating to have in her mouth. Making her jaw ache when she’s only just started pleasuring him. But the sight of him is _so_ worth it-

 

It seems insane, a woman of her size can bring down such a big beastly man as him. Fell him right the hell over by kneeling between his thighs and sucking on his cock like it’s candy. He’s huge. But she’s determined with this. He adores that about her. She’d never say but she likes the taste of him on her tongue. That briny musk. The way he sits so heavy and delicious in her mouth as she draws him in.

 

She holds around his girthy base and starts sucking him fully. Moving her hand over what her mouth couldn’t cover. Slicking up to the nearest boundary of her lips on his rosy wet length. Tongue rolling soft around his sensitive bulbous head. Slurping on it. Just like the way he’d been eating her that very morning.

 

Messy. Loud. Dirty.

 

“Holy shit. Kitten-uhh. Uh. Baby...” He whines so low. Mesmerised. Listening to her suck and bob her head to take him deeper. Her face pinched all up in pleasure. Every time he sinks in her mouth a little fraction deeper, his hips spark and jump up all eager.

 

“ _God_. You always take my dick so- _mmm_. So fucking good.” He whines. Hips thrusting up to fuck himself deeper down her throat. Really, he’s too big to fit in her mouth but she doesn’t let it stop her from trying. He was always the one diving between her legs. As soon as she saw him dozing there all sleepy, she wanted to repay the favour.

 

The gagging sound she makes has his mouth gaping open and pure noises of bliss come sailing out. Then she hums and- _fuck_ , his thighs shiver with it. Spine rattling with desire and pleasure.

 

How can it be this good? _How? It’s just insanely divine is what it is._

He opens his eyes and watches her suck him deep. So concentrated on her task. Head bowing and dipping. That mouth _prettyprettypretty_ mouth usually so demure and here it is - all spit wet and rosy red raw. Her hand squeezing him. Her tongue swirling on his head. Swallowing down the taste of him like she needs it to live.

 

“So beautiful on your knees for me.” He says. Says it like he doesn’t deserve it. Her tongue laps flat flicking over his sensitive head and he’s almost arching his back. Eyes rolling in his skull.

 

He reaches down and gently cups her hair. The silk of it warm. Tied back off her face. He holds her in place as he fucks his hips up and hears that gagging sound again. He knows his cock is curved and doesn’t naturally follow the line of her throat - but he fucks up to her mouth all the same. Gets her moaning around the the girth of him. Shattered glass moans tumble from her full mouth.

 

All full up of him. “Fuck.” He curses at the thought he’s stuffing her mouth to the brim with his fat girth. Indecent. Obscene.

 

He looks down again- _beautiful_.

 

“Kitten if you keep this up, I’ll cum down that pretty throat...” He warns in a long low drawl. Barely pauses for breath.

 

Hand tighter in her hair now. He’s panting. Sheening sweat. Sticky on his ribs. His abs. His nipples are burning and begging to be plucked and twisted for painful stimulation. Tight and hard. But he’s just watching his Kitten pleasure him. He’s stumbling closer and closer to cumming.

 

Her eyes flick up to find his. She doesn’t falter in her efforts even when those deep eyes blaze and blister her. She can’t fall through his shades but she can feel the physical weight of his stare. Her cheeks are pink flushed. He’s pink from cheek to belly. Rosy pink with blooming pleasure painting its petaled kiss on his skin.

 

Men could be beautiful like this, Evie realises. Kylo glows with it. With beauty and love and appreciation.

 

Her left hand gently cups his balls, rolling and resting the weight of the tight things in her palm. She sucks and slurps his soul right out of him. He gasps as he cums hard and long and loud.

 

Legs and thighs jerking, hand in her hair. Head tipped back, choking on her name flooding her throat with hot splash of his orgasm. Painting ropes and ropes of it that she swallows down. Some of it spatters out her lips, leaking down him in creamy dribbles. Bitter salty and musk. But she doesn’t mind it.

 

He jerks again when she swallows around his softening cock. Slipping off him with one last squelching suck. Tongue petal pink. Lips swollen puffy red. She looks up at him from between the spread of his thighs as he lays there panting, trunks pulled low and sunglasses slanted on his big nose.

 

He should look ridiculous and dishevelled. He still manages to look ridiculously handsome. Even in puffing in the exertion of afterglow. His head tilts forwards. He’s staring again. Salacious grin tips up his smile.

 

“You naked under that?” He asks in a panting breath.

 

“A little.” Is her modest answer.

 

He nods upwards. “Here. Now.” He commands. She slips herself right in his lap. Fits so snug and so well.

 

He yanks the ties of her gown open like its offensive. Gets it off her. Palms her tits. Sinks his hands between her legs. Loves how she’s dripping and all oily soft from her back massage. Skin smelling all floral pretty.

 

They soak up the sun together. Clothes half torn off. He rubs the rough red patches grazed into her knees where she’d been knelt on the stone blowing him. She cuddles that wide chest close. Nuzzling her nose in the crook of his sweaty neck. Salt and cologne besting off his throbbing pulse point. She kisses that gentle patter rhythm of his jugular.

 

He tips her chin up and gives her a gross deep kiss. Tongues and everything. It strokes her own and he groans when he tastes his cum on her tongue. He smiles and quests to find more. Licking into her teeth to get it all. Every trace of it.

 

His hands curve and skin like tattooed silk over her body. Up her bent knees. Over her hips. Drawing invisible patterns in the sweat dripping over her nipples where they’re laying in the unforgiving sun. She leans her head back to his shoulder and just feels how his hands stray across her. Like he’s travelling the lines and peaks and paths of a well-trod map he’s wandered across many times. He touches every mole, every scar, every jiggly wobbly part she hates. Strokes the patchy plains of cellulite and stretch marks at her hips and on the flanks of her ass.

 

Idly he wonders for a second if she’s only bought one piece swimsuits with her because she doesn’t like exposing the raw slashing scar on her belly. He lays special love and attention to the angry diagonal slash on her belly. Covers it with his big hand. Let’s her know it’s not ugly to him. No part of her body will ever tarnish in his eyes.

 

He carries on, dipping over every freckle he can find. She’s halfway sleepy by the time he’s done. They’re both recumbent to the suns mercy and the ever reaching sky.

 

They doze and kiss - Kylo naughtily sinks two fingers inside her pussy as they sit there. It’s sexual but comforting to him. He just savours the feel of her. Wet and pink perfect around his hand. Listens to how she spills wetness over the webs of his fingers.

 

They eventually stagger off to dress for dinner. He’s a sight for sore eyes in his grey suit Valentino trousers with a thick brilliant white shirt with the sleeves rolled up his arms. Polished tan brogue Derby’s on his big feet. Cologned up to the nines with Ormonde Jayne. Silver Swiss Breitling shimmering proud and oozing money off his wrist. They shared a warm soapy bath to get ready. And his cheeks still glow pink from it. Hair flopping in his face as he does up his watch clasp.

 

She wears a ruby polka dot sundress. Really it’s a cheap inexpensive thing from the boutique shop in town back home. It’s a diamond cut bias where the skirts meet the bodice. Pointing upwards to her sternum. The skirts spill so nicely over her hips. He thinks so. Crepe tulip-amber fabric draping her gorgeous body. She lets her hair loose. Pins the front parts of it by her ears off her face.

 

Kylo’s keen eyes spy how she keeps fiddling and fidgeting with the ring on her finger. Not yet used to the permanent band of metal on her finger.

 

She’s slipping on her modest wedge heels when he snakes his arms around the back of her hips. “Does it fit you alright?” He asks. Taking her hand and pressing his thumb to the back of the ring.

 

“It’s a little loose, but it’s not too bad.” She smiles. Smoothing down all the nonexistent creases in his shirt. It barely rumpled on his body. He must be some sort of deity. He wore clothes that never managed to look wrinkled or mussed. He’s always so perfectly pressed and presented.

 

They look down at her hand. Before she slings her arms around the back of his waist and kisses his smooth shaven chin. Citrus balm spice on his skin. She had to stretch on tippy toes to reach it. He smirks as she does.

 

“We can get it resized when we get home.” He assures her. He knew a jeweller who could do it. He cups her neck and tastes the tea-rose lipstick off her mouth

 

“Good.” She beams. “Cause I’m not going to be taking it off - _ever_.” She says firmly. So resolutely he believes her.

 

He smiles listening to her explain. Shade forms in the divots of his creased cheeks. “I’m determined to be a silver haired old biddy, and this ring will still be welded into the wrinkled skin of my hand. I’m going for a welt where my wedding rings sit.” She says. Reaching for his big left hand and fondly stroking his thick big fingers.

 

“I want to choose you a wedding ring too. If you’ll let me.” She asks. Holding his fingers and kissing them. The bunched scarred knuckles that she knows have split bones and bruised skin and done terrible things. But for her they are all softness and sweetness- there’s the difference. 

 

She holds his hand to her heart. Wraps those killer hands up in her kind fingers.

 

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow. I’ll need a new suit to marry you in. You need a wedding dress. Shoes. Jewellery.” He drawls. Stroking the amber-rust of her soft hair back on her head. Cradling her skull in one hand.

 

“I’ve got shoes and-“ She begins. He tilts his face down at her, eyes narrow, smirk curls, and she fades into quiet.

 

“That’s your scary face.” She says. Not unnerved at all. He fights off a chuckle.

 

“That’s my ‘ _my wife will have whatever she wants_ ’ face.” He corrects.

 

“I see.” She understands.

 

She nods. Kisses his nose. Drags him out by the big hips through terrace doors and snaps the lights off in their wake. He’s busy trying to kiss her again. Addicted to the press of her lips.

 

They eventually pull apart long enough - stop being such love-sick idiots for five minutes. Walking hand in hand out across their cobalt evening shod terrace to dinner under a darkening sky. Sunset has just left them. Lights twinkle in every shaped olive tree.

 

They walk down the steps and she turns to go to the hotel terrace. He smirks and pulls her in a different direction. Off down the balcony by the second garden pool. Leading them back into the vineyards. Accessible through the manicured gardens of the Santo Pietro estate. They walk through the shrubs and get a good look at the beautiful place all lit up at night.

 

Sculpted privets and box trees. All of them casted with an upwards beam of honey light. Or wound with invisible twinkle lights that shudder happily with the warm breeze. The sun roasted this Mediterranean garden during the day. And now the heat is slowly dissolving up from the earth. Up between the white pea shingle paths that carve their pearly way through the green green gardens. Evie can scent so many fragrant flowers. And herbs. Basil, jasmine, bay tree and lemons from the orchards. It’s all beautiful. A musky sweet spring evening. All dark and deep delicious.

 

“Where are you taking me?” Evie asks him. They’re at the foot of the vineyards now. Kylo’s winding her through walled dark orchards. Twisted gnarled trees grow up curled and deformed from the dusty biscuit-sand earth. He ducks under lemon branches and swats them away if they threaten to tear at his shoulders. Still holding her hand. He brings them to a walled door in the orchard. The arch of it sunk into the dusty-mustard stone.

 

Beyond it is the vineyard. She’s looking up at him in the dark, puzzled. Light from the coming moon sheening sticky wet off her blue eyes that happen to mould into the exact shade of the agean evening.

 

He puts a hand on the studded medieval door. Warped and rusty with age. “Ready for dinner?” He asks.

 

Clicks up the latch in the door with his thumb. The clunk of it echoes through the night. Through the sweet jasmine and lemon air that’s thick to settle like icing sugar.

 

She smiles. He opens the door with little flourish. Letting her see what, or rather, -who, was on the other side of it.

 

Because it happened to be a big round table set for six with grey linen and cream accents. With candlesticks lit on the runner of the table, twined with green wreathes of bay and eucalyptus. There’s lights strung up zig zag in the trees ahead. Casting light over the merry table. The vineyard is their setting.

 

And at the wonderful table, already cracking open the white wine, sits the beaming faces of her friends and family Evie thought for sure they’d left behind back home.

 

Arthur. Flo. Ben and Hux.

 

She clasps a hand over her mouth. Laughing in bliss. Nearly crying with it. Kylo’s stood behind her in the shade of the orchard. Watching her.

 

“You think I’d disappoint my wife by having our wedding without this crazy bunch?” Kylo asks her. Smile sneaky. Slithery and savage. Proud.

 

Flo is up, crossing the vineyard to crush her arms around Evie’s neck. Arthur not far behind. Ben and Hux stayed at the table. They weren’t the hugging type. Evie will give them both a good squeeze anyway. Awkwardness be damned. They’d all flown halfway around the globe to be here.

 

“Didn’t think you can get away from me thay easy huh sugar?” Flo laughs. Hugging her most favourite Grand babies. Pulling both of them in. Arthur laughs as she cuddles (strangles) the stuffing out them both.

 

“Certainly not.” Evie smiles. Flo’s hand grips hers. Gripping over Winnies ring that she’s so glad to see sit’s poised and polished on her hand. Better that than seeing it languishing in some dusty drawer at home.

 

Evie catches Kylo’s eyes over Flo’s shoulder. Her look of joy is plenty enough of as big a Thankyou as she can muster.

 

_He’d move hell and tear apart earth to keep the smile she’s wearing now._ The giddy glad one that makes his powerful knees weak to see it.

 

He hopes - and knows - it always will.

 

 

 

~ 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding fever catchin’ on anyone yet? 💓💕 I think I’m coming down with a big old dose of it with this one...


	57. Missions & Matriarchs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone please tell me how this is 11,388 words?!? My brains telling me to edit; my heart says no; 💕
> 
> Up next; The Solo boys try on suits and something saucy happens at the rehearsal dinner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner was a noisy affair. Heralded by far too much white wine and the impossible geniality of their vineyard surroundings. After days of it being just her and Kylo talking over dinner, in bustling romantic bistros, and on sunset terraces. Just them two. She’s on sensory drunk overload here, with everyone she adores-

 

\- and it’s _wonderful_.

 

After giving Hux and Ben a great big squeeze of a hug - Hux turned as red as his hair. Ben merely smirks as she throws herself in his chest and thanks them both for coming. She then sits between Flo and Kylo. Arthur opposite, next to Hux, Ben next to his partner. Opposite his brother. Evie notices that Ben strokes his boyfriends arm as they sit near. It warms her to the backbone to know they’re loved up too.

 

Flo pours her a very large glass of wine as she sits down. Matter of fact - true to form, the old lady doesn’t stop filling Evie’s glass til it nearly flows over. Does the same to Kylo’s.

 

“I gotta say honey, you sure do pick the locations. It’s such a beautiful spot for it.” She winks over at Kylo.

 

He grins that tipping smirk. “I’m glad you like it, Flo. I’m so pleased you guys could make it.” And he really was. But it was impossible that anyone who saw the view from the hotel terrace could find this place wanting.

 

Flo _pssshe’s_ loudly. “You think we wouldn’t clear our schedules for this _?!”_ She smiles gratefully. Gesturing around with her wine glass to the lights in the trees. Where the honey light battled for dominance with the silver moon as to what cast light over the tips of the green olive trees first.

 

“We chose this trip over a christening, a retirement party, _and_ a funeral back home.” Flo says with too much pride.

 

“ _Flo_...” Evie laughs. But really she was heartened they warranted such importance. “You’re missing Georgia’s christening for us?” She asks with a note of sadness to her second-grandma.

 

“We’ve been to twenty-six christenings in the past _year_ alone, toots.” Flo says. “One in the same. Baby in water. Babble about god. Same old-same old.” She waves off casually.

 

Kylo’s chuckling at Flo’s method for prioritising her family. “She’s taking lots of pictures to show to us when we get back.” He nods to smooth away Evie’s fears.

 

“They’re all sorry that more of them couldn’t come, of course, what with the kids being in school and everything.” Arthur interjects politely over to her and Kylo.

 

Because Kylo did extend the invite to all of them. His little fan club included. Apparently they had sent them along a wedding present with their grandparents.

 

“Besides...” Flo says before chugging more wine. “I’m bettin’ May ain’t done reproducin’ yet neither. Her and her husband want to try for a boy. They got three girls now. They got a few more attempts to go as of yet.” She says sneakily.

 

Evie’s blushing and shaking her head at Flo’s frankness. Arthur leans over to Hux. “If it didn’t take all those hours on the flight over to get used to my wife, I’m sure you boys are getting it now.” He jokes with them.

 

Hux beams. Flo had spent most of the flight sat next to him, proudly showing his family photos of all her grandbabies. She even snuck in a few of Evie as a baby to show off too. Arthur and Ben bonded over beers as they talked business. Arthur still had a few friends who worked in Ben’s field of work in the marketing and banking world.

 

“I don’t come from a vastly big family. And I seldom get the chance to attend a wedding. So Kylo and Evie you can have my sincere thanks for inviting me on this vacation. Not to downplay the gorgeousness of your nuptials - but I really _desperately_ needed a break from work.” Hux grins. Flo clamours and leans over to clink her wine glass with him. Agreeing heartily with the redhead.

 

Evie smiles at him.

 

“Where better than a place with plenty of wine and wonderful views?” She adds. He smiles so sincerely in gratitude.

 

Ben rubs his boyfriends shoulders. Knows his case load of patients have been putting strain on him lately.

 

“Yes, Armie!” Flo cheers. Clonking her wine glass heavily to his. Evie likes that Flo has already assigned the boys their nicknames.

 

She pauses to wag a bony finger of warning at Ben. “That’s a nice man you got there, you know.” She flirts in an afterthought at Ben. Hux’s ears glow red with praise.

 

“ _Oh_ , I’m very aware.” Ben husks. Hux looks at his boyfriend.

 

“Softie.” Hux mocks nicely. Ben joins hands with him. Kisses his boyfriends knuckles sweetly. It’s cute seeing Ben all wrapped up in love.

 

Flo sits down and turns to face the happy could. “Now. I must say agree with Armie. Holiday and your wedding all in one- it’s official. You two have _made_ my year.” Flo surmises.

 

“So I’d like to raise a glass to the two of you.” Flo says. Holding her wine glass aloft.

 

She then winks saucily over at Kylo. “Great timing stud and here’s to a beautiful wedding that I can’t wait to be a part of.” She offers to him. A crude thumbs up.

 

“I second that.” Arthur pipes up lovingly. Raising his wine glass in a saluting toast. Kylo smiles warmly across at the man. He raises his glass in thanks. Before taking a taste of the 1994 Chablis. A seminal vintage.

 

Arthur was the kind of man that perhaps got overshadowed by his wife. Not in a nasty sense. Just in the way that Flo was such a giant hearted lady of strong personality and matriarchy, it eclipsed her husband. Arthur didn’t mind it. He supported his wife in most everything she did. Sat back and watched her with pride.

 

He was the reticent of the two. That much was clear. Kylo didn’t realise until he started helping out at their place, but Arthur had been at one of the top attorney firms in the state back home, practicing family law. Wall in his study flanked with newspaper clippings from his court cases. He had some real headliners back in the sixties. Kylo only noticed this one day when he was helping Arthur sand down and repaint the window in his office.

 

He’d looked up at the certificates proudly pinned in frames to the rosebud wallpaper. Spotted in sun. Faded from time. But there was no losing the impressiveness of his achievements.

 

He’d gone to Yale law school. Finished in the top of his class. Graduated with honours. He caught Kylo looking at them and chuckled. Explained how he’d chosen marrying Flo and moving out here to taking a position in a severely impressive law firm in Boston back in the 70’s.

 

It was then Kylo realised something; he saw a lot of himself mirrored in a man like Arthur. He was inhumanely clever but never let on about it. Always doing crosswords. Reserved around people even if he knew them well. He’s vastly happy. Pottering around his farm, looking after their animals and helping raise their kids right.

 

Flo had said to him - during one late night whiskey session - that when their kids were younger. Arthur was all about taking care of them right. Where most fathers left it to the wives, to raise the kids and keep house.

 

Arthur was different. Kylo can associate with that somewhat.

 

Arthur, in all his quiet reserved ways, had given up money and prominence in his job to move to an old fixer-upper shack out here with his new bride. Settled down to have his family with the woman he loved.

 

It all ticked over in Kylo’s mind. How supportive that all was. How much wealth and importance had he given up at a time when he could’ve had his pick of everything?

 

The old man had merely smiled warm. Warmest Kylo had ever seen him. His old eyes sparkled and it was the most heartfelt words Kylo had heard come out the man as yet. “I never saw it as giving any of those things up. It was my choice. My path. There was never any question of it being any different. And it was the happiest choice I ever made.”

 

Kylo had realised in that moment: precisely two things.

 

He himself was more alike Arthur than perhaps anyone let on.

 

And Flo was more wily than she looked.

 

Kylo was the Queen of Sheba if he thought for a second that she hadn’t _planned_ on all this to come out eventually. Kylo found calm therapy in helping out Arthur with mending things. Arthur did too. Both their clinical brilliant minds put to good gentle use.

 

In between the ‘ _pass me the box end wrench’_ and ‘ _hand us over that paint tub.’_ Sometimes they would talk softly about things that Kylo could never tell to Flo or Evie.

 

Kylo opened up in tiny degrees to the man. About his parents. His upbringing. Arthur had seen and been involved in cases of neglect. Visitation rights. Domestic violence. It didn’t shock him. He’d seen what that side of life is like. Kylo felt reassured talking to him about things he could never bear to let Evie hear. Things he could never bring up. The ugly awful things that shaped him.

 

He wondered, had Flo looked at Kylo when she first saw him? Really _looked?_ Because in one meeting she’d managed to see under all the pretence his sociopathy sold to people. She knew he needed to acclimatise to something normal outside prison.

 

To have a use. To talk to someone about _how_ he was. _Who_ he was. All that he was. Through Arthur. He had that. One day every week.

 

That’s why there was no question that Arthur and Flo had to be here to see them married. They were _family_. And better still - family of their own choosing and worth ten million of the parents Kylo’d been born to.

 

Ben snatched the opportune moment - of Kylo telling Flo and Arthur how glad he was they could make it, to clear his throat loudly. Tilting his head at his twin. Kylo rolled his eyes. Evie laughs.

 

“We’re very glad you could make it too.” Evie assures him and Hux, whose amused by his partners needy nature for attention. Sipping the incredibly large wine glass Flo poured for them. They’d gone through one bottle already.

 

“Who else better to fill the post of best man than your twin brother?” Arthur speaks up. Ben smiles at the old man. “I knew I’d like you folks.” He turns his shaggy head and winks at Flo.

 

“How was the flight over? Smooth I hope.” Kylo asks their guests. To no one in particular.

 

“Faultless.” Hux responds.

 

“I’ve never flown in a private plane before...” Flo says. “Not even when I was a stewardess for Pan Am in the sixties.” She says.

 

“No way. You were a stewardess?” Ben asks her. Flo nods and smiles like it’s nothing.

 

“Great way to see the world. I circumnavigated it twice before I learnt home was the place for me.” She smiles.

 

“She was a wildly adventurous gal before she settled down to marry the likes of me.” Arthur smiles. “I’m lucky she so much as cast a look my way.” Arthur beams across at his wife.

 

“Bless you honey.” Flo says. “Also - you had a nice car.” She adds shrugging modestly. Evie bursts into laughter. Kylo shakes his head in a smile at typical Flo.

 

“Phenomenal pest.” Kylo smiles at his second Grandma.

 

“Face it sugar, you’d be disappointed if I was anything else.” She predicts.

 

Evie puts a hand over Flo’s. “Never.” She pledges.

 

They’re interrupted in their semi-drunken revelry by the arrival of their starter. The antipasto. Grilled asparagus with salty parma ham, drizzled with honey and chunks of feta cheese. As well as bruschetta. Toasted bread rubbed with garlic and topped with traditional mozzarella, basil leaf, sweet tomatoes and olive oil. Seasoned with plenty of cracked salt and black pepper. It’s a wonderful start to their evening and they needed some sustenance to wash down with the wine - they’d made it through two more bottles by the time the food is gone.

 

The mains is a brilliant concept - instead of carrying out individual servings, a huge oval casserole pot is brought to the table. A feast of a Mediterranean tray baked chicken. Thighs and boned fillets of chicken lay roasted and succulent on beds of pouting vegetables. Peppers, olives, capers, roasted garlic and onions. There’s two loaves of baked bread on the side. Typical Italian family food. Full of flavour and designed to feed the many.

 

They switch from white wine to red. Kylo spoils them all with more Montidori Sangiovese. He bought an entire case of it just for tonight. For the celebration here with all the people they love most.

 

It’s so much like home it makes Evie’s heart flutter. Flo serving up mountains food to the boys. She was sat closer to the table. Loads up Huxs and Ben’s plate. ‘ _Come on. You’re both too skinny. Need fattening up.’_ Evie passed around the chunks of bread.

 

Kylo pours everyone more wine. And he doesn’t skimp on the amount either. Evie smiles and passes him the butter dish. Sucking a smear of it off her finger. Kylo can’t resist leaning over for a taste. Kisses her gently on the lips. Sucks her lip just a little.

 

“I do love it when you taste like butter.” He husks quietly to her. No one else could hear. They’re all talking or eating.

 

“Eat your dinner before it gets cold.” Evie chides with a smile.and a plume of a blush.

 

For that he pushes his nose slightly into and under her jaw and kisses deviously at her hot throat so she almost spits out her red wine. Kylo’s new to the intimacy stuff. But he really does cherish every touch now he can get it. Knows he’ll get loving shy little pecks in return. He hopes those touches he’s come to depend on never dry up. He’s kinda certain they won’t.

 

Everyone eats, and drinks - a lot. And they have so much to discuss about the wedding. Flo wants to know everything - as does Hux. Evie tells all, even though there isn’t much to say. A cleanly small, quiet affair.

 

Vows. At sunset. On the garden terrace at the hotel overlooking the vineyard. Dinner on the vineyard. A six course wedding dinner.

 

Ben is, of course, Kylo’s best man. Evie asks if Hux and Flo will be her bridesmaids. Of course they both say they’d be delighted.

 

Naturally Flo instantly awards herself the title of maid of honour. Arthur will give her away. That was him and Flo’s compromise. The photographer is booked. Maria is handling the press for the magazine. The officiate will marry them mere minutes before sunset.

 

Tomorrow morning, Flo is taking Evie out for lunch and sightseeing for a couple of towns over. And then they’ll be shopping for her wedding dress. Shoes. And accessories too. Evie’s determined to get Kylo’s wedding ring. They’ll be ducking in and out of wedding dress shops inbetween seeing the local sights.

 

Ben is helping Kylo pick out his wedding suit. A designer is sending over a selection for him to choose from. Arthur has grand plans to fall asleep by the pool in the sunshine. And Hux has very similar ideas along those lines himself. Involving several more cocktails and tanning lightly whilst snoozing and catching up on trashy P.D James paperbacks. It was their holiday too after all.

 

They discuss this all over the dessert. Individual coffee and brandy tiramisu that’s so good, Kylo polishes off two portions all to himself. Because though it was very delicious - Evie lets him have the rest of hers.

 

Out comes the after dinner drinks with the coffees. And something else gets brought out too. A gramophone with a brass horn, and an old _old_ stack of antique vinyl. Kylo had asked Valentina if there was any way they could play some music after dinner. At such short notice she told him she couldn’t book a band, but she had something ancient in storage she could pull out and dust off.

 

And here it is. Sat by them all. Amongst the olive groves, on a round lined-oak side table. Adding into the merriment of their evening. Arthur walks across. Admired the beautiful thing before he cranks it up.

 

The old treasure it was. It shudders husky to life. A chorus of trumpets soaring and blazing, and then some 1930’s singer starts warbling something in Italian. Arthur paws through the stacks. Ben is the first to leap up after sipping his wine. Sways his boyish charm on over to Flo.

 

“May I steal this dance my lady?” He waggles his brow down at her. She pretends to be flustered. Putting her hand on her chest in an ostentatious display. Grinning and preening like a schoolgirl.

 

But her eyes twinkle as she accepts. Ben tugs her up from her seat and twirls her. Around onto the bare patch between the groves of trees they were using as a makeshift dance floor.

 

“I promise I’ll behave.” Ben says to Arthur.

 

He scoffs. “It’s not you I’m worried about, son.” He promises.

 

Flo runs her hand up his lower back. Ben leaps a little at the unexpected touch. “ _Such_ muscles.” She croons at him.

 

Arthur smiles at Ben’s naivety. “Watch her son. She’s _real_ handsy.” He tells.

 

Ben grins. “I believe you. I saw the sparkle in her eyes.” He states drunkenly.

 

Flo flattens him into a dance pose. Wanting to feel at those lovely big arms. And that lovely wide chest... squeezes the breath out of Ben.

 

Flo brags as they walk past Kylo and Evie “I always catch the ones with snake hips.” She winks.

 

“Excuse me?” Arthur calls over as he dusts of a Ray Gelato record. Flo beams.

 

“You had a figure like this back in the day...” Flo says to her husband as she dances gently with Ben. “It’s why I said ‘yes’ I’d marry you and have your babies.” She adds cheekily.

 

Evie’s cheeks hurt from smiling. She’s lazy drunk and so is everyone else. Hux moves up to Ben’s vacated seat and pours more wine for her and Kylo still sat opposite. The once pristine table is now is a cluttered mess. The candles have burned down to flickering stubs with a low pools of ivory wax sustaining it. The table runner is dripped and dribbled with spots of white wine. The cutlery is all mussed. Empty dessert plates litter each setting. Every glass is half full of wine.

 

“You not going to dance?” Evie asks Hux. He is resolute in his answer.

 

“I’m terribly drunk. I fear it wouldn’t end well.” He laughs. Evie smiles at him. Laughs too. Drinking more of the Sangiovese. He’d remarked earlier how delicious it was. He’d have to ship home a few bottles. Kylo offers to get Luca to source some for him.

 

Kylo’s wincing but grinning watching Flo and Ben dance. “How well is _that_ going to end?” He nods towards them.

 

Ben is dipping Flo slightly. Twirling her. Pulling out all the moves. Swaying his hips in his grey trousers. Navy shirt crinkling on his torso. Half stained from the honey gold of the festoon lights swaying in the trees above them.

 

“I can in fact, hear you.” Ben says across to them all. Hux smiles as he drinks down his wine. Arthur stops the Carlo Buti - and puts on a Ray Gelato instead. A mambo tune loudly kicks to life.

 

Evie was leaning back into Kylo. Had been ever since the dessert coffee. She’d had a glass of the pudding wine. It was excellent and now she wants to steal a dance. He’d slung an arm around her shoulders. She puts a hand back to his ribs. Twists on her wooden seat.

 

“Care for a spin?” She asks him. Smile close to his. He peers down at her rosy lips. The rim of her wine glass had kissed away all her lipstick. Blasphemy. He should’ve had that honour. His eyes looked hooded. So deep she could dive into the walnut brown things. They glitter romantic off the candlelight. Scorching her with love.

 

“I think I’m drunk too.” He professes. Evie thinks this might be the only time she ever hears him confess to that. This night has brought enough booze on him to get him intoxicated. She didn’t think it was possible.

 

“And I have two left feet.” He purrs in a smile. He’s flirty tonight. Blames it on the wine and hearing her laugh.

 

“I have two right feet. That’s a set right there.” She persists.

 

She laughs. “Come on. Mr. Ren. To hell with it.” She kisses his cheek and pulls him up by the hand. He wasn’t resisting much anyway. He stands easily following her lead.

 

Already swaying her hips to the mambo music. _Oh_ , how Kylo watches. Loves when those hips dip for him. When something comes on the radio when she’s cooking. He loves the little shimmy she puts into her ass as she dances. It’s damnably cute.

 

His head is fuzzy, blood thudding slow and lazy carefree around his body, but he feels warmer and softer still when she slides her hands up his forearms and over his rolled shirt sleeves. He hooks her into a dance pose. Seizes a big hand right over the back of her hips - spans the both of them with the span of his massive paws. Yanks her close. Dances to the beat. Holds her other hand up. Smoulders a look right down at her. The one that makes her smile and blush.

 

They step and sway to the ‘ _mambo gelato’_ together. He twirls her out and reels her back. Watches her hair and skirts spin. Clasps her tenderly to his chest. For such a big body he sure moves gracefully. They can both feel the others hips move against their bodies. It might be the drink. But he holds her a little tighter when she comes back to him.

 

_It isn’t the drink._

 

It’s this wild drunken candlelit dinner. Where they’ve all laughed and danced like they’ve got two left feet a piece. If she thought Flo was rumoured to be handsy. It’s nothing compared to a _drunk_ Kylo. His fingers trail slowly up her thigh, lingering under skirt. Sneaking grabs. She leans up and presses a kiss to his lips. He doesn’t let her pull back. They kiss and kiss and kiss.

 

Ben has rejoined his boyfriend at the table after several gropes from Flo feeling on his big muscles. The other married couple is dancing now. Evie watches as Ben pours himself another Brandy into his deep domed glass. Sits beside his boyfriend and gives him a full on tongues and all sweet quick smooch as they sit there. Because it wouldn’t be Ben Solo if there wasn’t throughly inappropriate kiss. Even in public.

 

They had _no_ shame, those solo boys.

 

Flo and Arthur are dancing beside them when Evie comes close and lays her cheek right up close to Kylo’s chest. She hugs him tight. Crosses her arms around those hips as they’re dancing slow.

 

Taste of white wine sat crushing sharp on her tongue. Dozy happiness fluttering through her like it’s overtaken her bloodstream and that’s all that there is left. She shuts her eyes and listens to them - to her family and her friends surrounding them.

 

Listens to the trees sway and crash overhead. Listens to Flo hollering for Armie to stop smooching his fine assed lover and to crack open another bottle instead. Or pour her some brandy. Arthur’s laughing. Mambo music still croons and pulses jovial in the air.

 

Ben is now calling Flo an old terror with a smile wide on his face. Evie has a feeling they’ll be doing shots together before long - and she knows that Flo will not be the one to lose.

 

Kylo folds his arms around her. She snuggles his chest real deep. Nuzzles into his shirt. Plume of his Ormonde Jayne cologne on her lips. She has the widest smile on and a heart so happy it could drift right up to the moon.

 

And she’s so lucky. She can remember six months ago feeling like there was nothing else life could possibly offer up to her. Everything seemed set. Everything had seemed so certain.

 

She was sure she’d been destined never to have or feel a great love of her life. He’d stormed his way on in and proved her very wrong indeed. Snatched away her weak heart with his tatted hands. Scored his name on her pathetic sappy organ right where it lay in her chest.

 

She thinks on all this as she hugs Kylo. Squeezes him tight around his ribs. Dancing slowed to a sway as they just held each other.

 

_How did she ever get this damn lucky?_

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The next morning, and the terrace doors are open, but the curtains in their room are hastily pulled across. The twin waterfalls of heavy beige velvet being nudged by the wind. The sun is as bright as it usually is here in the mornings. It claws through the crack in the heavy curtains.

 

They’re strewn across the bed. The clothes they wore draped over the chaise at the end of it like discarded designer litter. His belt, shoes, her bra, knickers, his shirt. All heaped useless on top of the crushed cotton covers. Grey throw on the end by their toes half slipping off. They didn’t fuck each other to sleep last night, both too drunk. Lips raw off kissing. Feet sore from dancing.

 

They settled instead for getting naked and just rolling into bed and making out whilst both incredibly drunk. It’s a wonder they staggered up the steps to get back up here from the vineyard.

 

Evie wake’s up with Kylo’s dead heavy arm slung over her waist. Her ass pressed to his boxer clad thighs. His other arm arrow straight under her pillow. Cradling her head. Lips pushed into her neck where they always rest. Always.

 

If she wriggles away from him in the night. His paws grab her hips and yank her back. Or he’ll follow her retreat. Shuffle across the mattress where she’s escaped too. Cups her tits or palms her hip. Anything. So long as they touch. She does the same. She’s woken up more times than she can count in his chest. Snuggled close. Stealing his furnacing body heat.

 

Evie just managed to slip on a tiny slither of a indigo silk nightdress before they collapsed asleep. Kylo growled when he saw it on her and skimmed his hands under it to cup and pinch at her nipples. Loves the feel of her little body passing softly under silk. It ended just about at her thighs. Peacock lace scalloped over the mounds of her breasts. Tiny straps ribbon over her shoulders.

 

He tugs her into the bed with a growl when she comes out the bathroom. Drags the indigo ink silk down out her way and bites at her tits. Making her gasp before he kisses her all drunken slow like honey. Sliding his hungry tongue in her mouth as they make out before bed. He stabs love bites into her neck. Though careful not to mark up his bride with too many bruises on her pale elegant neck. Wouldn’t do to see them in the wedding photos.

 

She grumbles. He does too at the light slicing at the room. Buried his face in her neck. Crosses her arms around her. Nuzzles his face so deep in her back his eyes never want to come to light again. Evie strokes his beefy arm. All tensed where it’s locked around her like some impenetrable root from the bottom of a stubborn tree.  
  


A very stubborn tree with lots of warped Michelangelo tattoos.

 

His hands start to wander. Over hills and dips and curves of her. Cups her pussy in one hand. Cups all of it. Fingertips gently nudge at her lips. Stroking them. Feeling how petal soft they are. Wanting to taste their sweet ripe pinkness.

 

“How about a little breakfast in bed?” He asks all husky gravel and croaked from sleep. She can feel his morning wood insistent at her bottom. Pressing into the soft of her ass cheeks. His fingers circle her cunt.

 

Evie mushes her face into her pillow with a smile the same way he’s currently crushing his face into her shoulder blades. She groans. Not wanting to get up. She wanted to turn away the day at the door. Tell it go off somewhere and bother someone else.

 

There’s these cool cotton sheets and the sounds of a merry green garden just outside. She has a nearly naked fiancé at her back rubbing patterns between her legs. What more could she ever want? How could her day get any better?

 

“Hey. Love birds. You better cover up any naked parts that need coverin. I’m coming _in_.” Warns that staccato command. Little elderly feet shuffling on the patio terrace makes her eyes spring open.

 

If that didn’t make his morning erection waver- Nothing would. He rips his hand away from Evie’s thighs so fast it stings her skin at the absence of him. He is lightning quick to clamp a pillow over his covered groin. Concealing all of himself except his bare chest, from Flo’s eyes.

 

The curtains are savagely torn open from the patio side. Sunlight blazes in. White hot bright. Spilling the room, splashing up the walls to the brim. Evie sits up in bed and blinks at the crude manner of her summons.

 

“Still asleep? At this hour?! Come on lazy bones. We got a wedding to plan. You got half an hour to get your panties on sugar. Or I’m goin without ya.” She warns.

 

Evie nods. Rubbing her eyes and looking in the bright bright bright direction where she vaguely hopes Flo is standing. It was hard to tell.

 

“Morning honey.” She tosses over to Kylo. He clears his throat.

 

“Morning.” He grumbles brightly. Swallows after. Nods at her. Frozen - almost literally _stiff_ \- to his spot in the warm bed. Hands lay resting on the plump of his snowy pillow over the junction of his thighs.

 

“Tick tock, sugar.” Flo nods at Evie. Zipping away out the door. Now her eyesight isn’t ripped away by sunshine.

 

Evie can see now that Flo is in her Capri pants. Her comfy walking shoes. Hair and makeup done. Scarlet lips. Lined blue eyes. Pink beehive scooped back sleek on her head. Patterned red scarf tied around her neck. Pinned with a Swarovski broach. Fancy blouse on. She’s a woman ready for action. Sergeant Bernstein rousing the troops.

 

Evie still has morning breath and raggedy sleep tumbled hair.

 

Flo pops her head back around the door. “You can stop hiding now sweetie. I did raise three boys. I know what happens in the mornings.” She winks cruelly, chuckling, clicking her tongue at Kylo to tease.

 

Shuffling back on out to the patio. They hear the scuffle of her orthopaedic shoes grow fainter across the cream flagstones.

 

Kylo blinks. Waits a minute. And only then removes the pillow when he deems it’s safe. Evie twists around, sat up. Seeing his morning wood indeed tents his boxers _and_ the bedsheets. _Poor thing._

 

“That woman drank three bottles of wine last night. And a half a bottle of brandy. How is she... _alive?_ ” He said. He kept count. He never missed a thing. He shuffled his head up to look at Evie.

 

Who shrugs modestly. “She’s _Flo_.” She offers in response. “I think she’s pickled by now. All those years of whiskey drams on her porch.” She smiles.

 

Kylo’s grumbles an agreeing sound. Then his slate eyes turn naughty. Slipping up her body. “C’mere.” He beckons.

 

She was already there - leaning down and smacking a cute kiss on the top of his nose. At the beauty moles on his scarred face. Skin all dewy and shiny from sleep.

 

“I should get dressed.” She supposed with a sigh.

 

“The activity I had in mind works way better without clothes.” He smirks. Hand sneaks for her pussy again. Slithers hot up her thigh. He just reached her clit when she speaks. Wants to paw and grab at her tits til the silk comes loose.

 

“I wouldn’t put it past her to come back in.” Evie warns against his lips. His hand stills. He grips a hip. Ransomed another kiss instead. His lips demanded one. She willingly gives it.

 

He gets a big thrill of happy trilling in his stomach when she cups his cheek with her left hand. Feels the metal band coolly kiss at his cheek.

 

She begrudgingly lifts the covers off. Best to do what the drill sergeant says before she marches back in here armed with a bucket of cold water, intending to douse them both down. Their adopted grandma is fully aware of their insatiable habits for each other. She will take no nonsense.

 

She pads to the bathroom across tepid tiles to get ready. Kylo lounges in bed listening to her get ready. When she comes out he graduates from listening to watching.

 

Drinking in. Laying back, set on his elbows. He likes watching her put her makeup on. Sunshine tips silver and stark white off the oval mirror before her on the vanity dresser. He likes watching how she tucks hair behind her ears. Such a simple little move. She’s no idea it’s one of the first things he fell in love with, about her.

 

Today, Kitten’s sundress is a showy one. A tea dress. She loves her vintage tea dresses. It’s as rusty red as the terracotta brick buildings of Milan. Mixture of Sandstone and chilli pepper red. The sleeves are puffed and capped. Fluffed up. The skirts come to her calves and there’s tiny tied black sandals on her feet. What he loves most is how sculpted the dress is around her hips and ass. It’s no secret he had no favourite parts of her body below her neck. He wasn’t an ass, leg or breast man. Whilst he loves her so wholly. It’s that pretty neck of hers that gets him weak.

 

Especially when she wears her hair up. He’ll have to take her to the opera again soon. Get big fat diamonds to drop from her earlobes. Get her hair done up all pretty again. Slip her plump figure into some delectable designer gown - all things considered if she did doll up like that, there was a substantial risk he couldn’t let anyone else see her wearing it. He’d keep her all to himself. Keep the jewels on. And the heels. Lose the dress. Fuck her all night through.

 

She puts her hair up with the clip he bought her in Milan. Messy but cute. She throws the things she needs in her little satchel bag. Links it on her shoulder. Sprays Coco mademoiselle on her wrists and the pulse that thuds in her neck. Her sandals cruelly slap the tiled floor as she crosses back to the bed. Kylo is awake and up. Pulling on rumpled jeans and a white tee that fits snug on his big arms.

 

“I’ll walk you out.” He explains. She smiles gladly and slips out the terrace doors, into the enfold of early morning marigold sunshine. Beating down from a clear sky. Evie finds herself hoping the weather stays as fine as this for the wedding. As it turns out, Flo is sat lounging on their terrace, lying in wait. Looking supremely cosy in a sun lounger with her sunglasses on. Catching some rays.

 

“Ugh. Finally.” Flo beams as she saw Evie and Kylo moving towards her. She swings her old legs off the lounger and stands.

 

“Ready to hit the road. I sure as hell got some savings I wanna break into.” Their stout little matriarch beams excitedly. Ready to go and explore the little Tuscan towns.

 

Evie smiles at her eagerness. “We shouldn’t be long.” She smiles to her Fiancé. One hand to the middle of his wide chest. Resting in the that plain of muscle. The dip between his solid pecs.

 

“Take all the time you need. Now-“ He begins all stern. Reaches for his jeans pocket. Brings out his wallet. Takes out that black-silver Merrill Lynch card. Holds it between his index and middle finger. It glints in the sun. As if appraised of it’s fortune.

 

He eyes Evie as he holds the card.

 

“Dress. Diamond jewellery. Shoes. Lots of shoes. Lunch. Drinks. Maid of honour dress. Anything. Everything you want, it all goes on this card, Kitten. Understood?” He narrows his eyes with a smug smile before he stops short-

 

Hands it across instead to Flo. “Do your worst.” He smiles at her. Flo plucks it out from where it’s offered between his two fingers with a wicked grin. He knows who the irresponsible one is in this pair.

 

She seems only too pleased to answer a “Certainly.” With a wicked grin.

 

“Kylo...” Evie chides. He has none of it. Puts his wallet away. Grabs her hips and reels her closer by the backs of them. Drags her so close so quick that her shoes drag on the tiles. He’s giving her that smouldering look. Turns his head to speak to Flo where she’s stood beside them.

 

“Be mean. Let her get whatever she wants. Money no object. Don’t let her look at price tags. I’ve found that’s the easiest way to spoil her with what she deserves.” He growls smugly.

 

Stoops down to kiss Evie’s blushing cheek. His nose nudges into her.

 

“ _Oh_ , I can be real mean, honey.” Flo winks.

 

“Perfect woman for the job.” Kylo remarks. He kisses at Evie’s jaw. She opens her rosebud mouth to protest.

 

“Listen here. I’m only ever gonna have one wife, Kitten. So go and get yourself a pretty dress to marry me in. And don’t give me even one second of that cute pinched face. Cause this is what husbands do... They let their wives spend their money.” He tells her most sincerely. She quietens.

 

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a husband before.” Evie answers back cheekily. He kisses her for that. Squeezes her ass just a little. Out of Flo’s eyesight.

 

“Good. Cause you’ll never have another.” He promises all savage and possessive. Smile lighting up his deep honeyed eyes. Kisses her forehead all sweet. Contrasting to his gruff words.

 

“I arranged for a very nice car to come pick you ladies up outside the hotel reception. If you’re gonna go out. Go out in style.” He smiles. “The driver will take you anywhere you wanna go.” He tells. Flo looks mighty impressed.

 

“You’re too kind sugar.” Flo remarks.

 

“Not at all. I just like looking after my best girls.” He says. Stroking Evie’s hair back off her face. Just one more kiss and he lets her go. _Un bacio ancora. Just one kiss more._

 

“Flatterer.” Flo smiles. Comes and gives him a big kiss and a squeeze. She steps back and heads to pick up her purse and travel books heaped on the lounger.

 

“Shop. Spend. Wear my card out.” He instructs directly to Evie after he gives her a slow parting smooch. A kiss between each instruction.

 

He’d brushed his teeth as she was getting dressed. Their minty breath mingled on their tongues as they shared the kiss. Their hands slip apart. Kylo realised how much he hates watching her walk away right then. When they could be naked in bed and putting his morning wood to good use. But. The thought that she’ll be going shopping to purchase a dress to marry him in? It soothes the pain of absence by just that littlest bit.

 

They head to walk off across the terrace. To the door in the wall and heading to the main cluster of the hotel.

 

“Enjoy suit shopping, honey.” Flo calls back to Kylo.

 

“I’ll try.” He answers. Any amount of hours he intended to spend with Ben - he can’t pretend he looks forward to them with any great amount of enthusiasm.

 

He’s shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets. Watches his Kitten walk off with drill sergeant Bernstein. Stood there barefoot like some designer tattooed poster boy for vogue in jeans and a tee that he makes look inexplicably expensive.

 

Flo and Evie are whisked off for their day of sights and bridal dresses. In that order. A posh deluxe Tesla S model in chowder grey waits to pick them up. Flo tells the driver to take them to a fairly big town, an hour and a half away. Florence to be precise.

 

Evie does as she’s told. Flo has maps and books and zip codes and is about as prepared for this trip as most generals are for a serious military offensive. She wants to see the Palazzo Vecchio or the Uffizi or the Arno between trying on gowns.

 

Flo laughs at Evie telling her this. ‘ _Exactly sugar. Almost like the landings on Normandy. But with more Jimmy Choo’s and tulle._ ’ She’d cackled.

 

She is then taking full advantage of the mini bottles of Moët champagne Kylo left in the car for them in an ice bucket. Evie loves that he thought about every little thing. Every detail paid attention too. She could practically hear him saying to her in that gruff deep commanding voice;

 

‘ _Enjoy yourself now for me, Kitten.’_

They drink the Moët out of ribbed crystal glasses. They plot a charter for hitting all the wedding dress shops on Flo’s map. And a couple of churches and chapels too. The car journey goes by speedily. Before they know it, they’ve arrived and are stepping out the car to take all of this loud classic Italy in. The cradle of the renaissance.

 

The city they’ve come to houses some of the most famous sights and artworks in the world. One of the most famous Piazza’s in Italy. The Palazzo Vecchio and the overlooking their Piazza Della Signoria, with the famed Loggia dei Lanzi opposite. There’s the Uffizi and the Academia gallery just waiting to be wandered around. Palazzo Pitti Museum, The cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, and the Boboli Gardens. And endless streaming list of things to see and do. Flo’s got everything mapped out. Every hot spot chartered to give them ease of access as they wander around.

 

First stop; breakfast. By the time the car pulls into the historic old town and drops them off in some sleepy square. Both their bellies are groaning for some proper food. And Flo had combed the tour guides to find just the right spot. It’s not a world renound Piazza. Matter of fact it’s opposite. It’s tiny. Ancient renaissance Italian. She has a feeling this place isn’t on many of the maps.

 

Flo thanks Giorgio, their young driver. Calls him a handsome young man. Tells him with a wink that they’ll ring him when they need a ride. Evie ushers her quick out the car.

 

Flo, champagne on empty stomachs and virile Italians was not a safe mix.

 

They walk down a narrow little alley that cuts under the buildings. The walls and brick cast warm buttermilk yellow in the sun. Roofs here are such a deep ruddy rust colour. Terracotta blazed down upon by years and years of harsh sunshine baking the clay tiles. Old stone lentils on the buildings guarded with walnut shutters and cracked blue paint.

 

It’s a more residential area of the city. Long historic stretches of pebble grey cobblestones lay rickety to the floor. The noises are strident compared to the quietness of the vineyard. Mopeds and clamour of people walking on the street. The flutter of washing snapping on the line in the city breeze overhead. Strung between buildings like odd multicoloured flags.

 

Pigeons wings clap off as they soar into the air, arcing over the tiny square fountain in the piazza. All the arcade sides of the piazza lined with pillars, with shops ducked underneath them. As if hiding underneath the sandcastle hued stone. They cross to the tiny chapel that’s a haunted white colour. Like old ash. Old marble stained to the colour of dirty bone. It’s fairly gothic but not as intricate as some of the Duomo’s Evie’s been lucky enough to see on this trip. Flo snaps pictures on her digital camera.

 

She leads Evie into the old chapel. And there, nestled at the back, in between the shining dark wood pews, stone pillars, and the candle votives, is a tiny café. Cut into the corner of the grey stone walls. A big curving window leading into the chapel. Half in. Half out. Metal tables and chairs are poised on the mosaic tile of the floor. It’s a tiny narrow cafe with red awning and gold lettering of the name splashed across it. Small and cosy.

 

Evie grabs a table under Flo’s guidance. Her matriarch orders at the counter, and is quick to return. Arms laden with a while tray of pastries and coffee. Two big mugs of cappuccinos. Doughy fried Buñelos, and Sfogliatella. Filled with sweet honey and foamy cream. Dusted with icing sugar. They sip their coffees under the diagonal sliced shade of the square where the sun can’t get at them yet. There’s a little vase with a red rose on each table. It’s a lovely way to start off the morning.

 

That kicks off their tour of Florence with a great happiness. Both ladies wander down an old promenade of shops where Flo had spied a couple of upmarket bridal places on ‘ _the google_.’

 

The first one they go into is much more designer chic than Evie first realised. It’s like stumbling into the heart of the sun. Or the Ice Queens palace.

 

Blinding white everywhere. Marble grey floors. Spotless straight sofas. Vases of white Calla Lillies lay exotic and stark on end tables. It’s like this whole bleached crystal place is afraid of colour.

 

Colossally tall shop girls in heels and stark black pencil skirt uniforms. Their presence is encountered frostily by the staff at best.

 

Evie’s intimidated a little by the fact that the place seems to be run by a flock of catwalk models. She’s searching through dresses on the racks shyly. Not really embracing the glow of a happy bride.

 

Flo sees this and she rectifies this. She narrows her eyes. Not taking any of this snobbery. How they were being looked down upon as mere mortals from the goddesses up in their white clouds. She flags down the nearest shop assistant who is picking by them in her stilettos as if they were a puddle of muck on the street she didn’t wish to taint her shoes.

 

She’s all smiles and sweet old lady pretence when she storms over to the girl. She wrinkles that beautiful old face of hers into the most saccharine smile. Brings out the Merrill Lynch card. Asks them if they could kindly have a changing room to try on some wedding dresses. And shoes. And whatever the hell else they wanted from this shop to try on. Because it is a shop. Not a cliquey bitchy sorority house.

 

Because it should never be above anyone’s dignity to help out another human being, to her mind.

 

The shop girls demeanour changes almost in a snap second. They quickly get a changing room. Any gown Evie desires. And any one Flo likes the look of too. Soon, Evie’s tried on several. The labels inside were big big names.

 

Oscar de la Renta. Stella McCartney. Roland Mouret. Kiki de Monparnasse. Zuhair Murad. The Murad one was actually her favourite.

 

When she emerged out the crushed slate velvet curtains to stand and show Flo. She sees a little shimmering twinkle of tears sparkle her eyes. She waits until Evie’s back is turned to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. Evie saw her in the one of the million wall mounted mirrors angled in the changing room.

 

She tries on puffy dresses with huge fluffy tulle poofy skirts. Slim strapless satin ones. Simple but nice. Slinky Italian ones backed with nothing but lace lace lace across her back and a row of pearls up her spine. Flo offers support and encouragement. Then their classy show of wealth gets knocked down several pegs when Flo gets slightly merry off the vintage Perrier-Jouet. And starts trying on all the veils in the place. Nearly falls off her chair for laughing. Texting selfies of herself and sending them to her family back home.

 

Evie has to trip over her stupidly expensive skirts to clutch Flo before she falls off her perch. She’s in a tight French tulle strapless Vera wang with a huge floppy grosgrain sash bow cinched around the waist. Luckily the attendant had ducked out to get Evie some higher pearl white Prada heels.

 

She also snaps a shot of Evie in secret. Kylo had texted Flo asking how she’s getting on. She snuck one of her in the gown as the attendant sorts out the hem. Evie’s looking down to her toes, distracted. Flo sends him through the picture with an attempt at an emoji wink face. It makes him smile wide to see her in a wedding gown. Makes his chest puff out in pride.

 

“You alright?” She asks with a laugh after tripping over the changing room carpet to get to her. Flo’s sat back safely in her armchair. Hand over her chest. Veil fluffed up on her pink hair. She’s happy and silly. Evie can’t help laughing too.

 

“We’re making such a terrible impression.” Evie laughs, hissing and whispering lowly at her adoptive grandma. Nearly weeping with laughter. Maybe the champagne had gone to her head too.

 

“ _Oh_ , screw it! Balls to being dignified. I’m on this earth for not much longer and I’m gonna have a good time. Go big or go home sugar.” Flo says loud and proud. Giggling.

 

“You’re somehow a terrible maiden of honour and a brilliant one at the same time.” Evie says. Before she holds out her skirts. Gesturing to the Vera Wang she has on. “What do we think?”

 

Flo tilts her drunken head. Veil flops to one side because - of course she still hasn’t taken it off. Champagne glass pressed to her thigh where she’s holding it.

 

One thing Flo could do was be brutally honest. ‘ _No. Not that one you look like a cupcake._ ’ Or ‘ _No. it’s too low cut and booby. You’ll give the poor boy a hard time stood at the altar in that.’_

 

The best yet was when she was fastened into an absolutely cloud like Chanel couture. Just for the fun of trying it. Floating lace and organza sprig appliqués with hand tacked voluminous framed over pluming cresting skirts. Big and plenty of them. When the curtains opened. Flo’s eyes widened. Nose wrinkles in disdain and fear. ‘ _Dear god no, woman. You look like you fell into a big bag of cotton balls.’_

 

Looking at the slim tulle dress she’s got on now. Flo offers some advice. “I think you look beautiful. But it really matters what _you_ think honey...” Flo suggests. “Do you want to settle for your wedding dress being just that? Just pretty?” She seeks. Narrowed eyes full of wisdom.

 

Evie eyes the rail rack of dresses Italy’s next top model brought specially in for her. “They’re all so lovely. Truly. But none of them feel like.... well. Like me? Is that completely _stupid?”_ She asks, self conscious.

 

Flo beams. “Not at all sugar. And that’s all you gotta say... ok?” She grins. Evie smiles back to her. Lifting her skirts and going to take the pretty white dress off. Flo eyes her feet. Encased in slim muted-silver Jimmy Choo pumps. Very chic bridal with rhinestone flowers on the straps.

 

“We might have to get those shoes though...” She winks and grins. “Can never have too many shoes to pick from.” She sips her champagne and looks evil and satisfied with herself.

 

They walk out of the snobby ice-palace of a place. Flo conned Evie into not one, but three, pairs of shoes. Has great smug satisfaction in handing over the credit card to buy them.

 

They wander laden with bags through the historic streets. Flitting in and out of more bridal shops that they come across. Flo summons Giorgio with the car once more. They deposit their bags and he drives them to the busier quarter of town.

 

They had a rooftop tour of the Florence Duomo booked in three hours. They kill time with a private guided tour of the Uffizi gallery. Just them two. Wandering around the spectacle of a museum. The home to some of the great Italian Renaissance masterpieces. Botticelli, Raphael and Tiziano’s greats and many more besides all housed in this big Medici palace. What better way to see the genesis of the renaissance right here in its birthplace?

 

Flo seems very pleased that a spritely polite, young, sharp dressed Italian man is to be their guide. Olive skin. Handsome face. A swoop of deep black hair and a smile as white and pearly as a marble Bernini. Antonio.

 

He walks them round the key exhibits of the place. Talks in great detail and passion about the italian renaissance masters. He answers every question incredibly thoughtfully. Takes all the time in the world to let people love the art of their history.

 

The two hour tour flies by. Flo buys her and Evie matching Botticelli Venus print sweaters from the gift shop. Big oversized cosy ones. They walk out into the Piazza della Signorina. Off to find their local guide for the rooftop tour. They find them by the Fontana del Nettuno.

 

Flo stops her by the ancient crusted marble Neptune fountain for her and Evie to toss in a coin for good luck. The fountain is a beautiful thing. Famed worldwide. Marble roman god of the sea stood proud on his pedestal surrounded by his sea creatures. Presiding over the square with his icy marble glare. Lording over it all.

 

They meet their guide - a young local woman this time. Who takes a tiny four person group of them on a different sort of guided tour.

 

A rooftop tour of the Florence Duomo, the 15th century dome added by Filippo Brunelleschi. Able to see Giotto’s 14th Century white, red and green marble bell tower too, and get a whole vista of this sprawling red roofed city. A short eight minute walk through the warren, bustling, rusty-walled streets to come to the absolute glory of the hugely impressive Florence Duomo.

 

Evie and Flo are silent as they take in the beauty. Just drinking everything in as they step over the geometrical polychrome mosaic tiles. Sheer classical beauty. The high vaulted arches that arc into the ceiling with pillars dripping down strong. They are lead inside, up the 463 steps and shown around the stunning ceiling frescoes by Vasari and Zuccari and Uccellos colossal clock. They continue upwards. Out through the two shells of the cupola and into the lantern. Where the whole city waits to be gazed at.

 

“I’m glad my shabby old knees sustained all those goddamned stairs for this.” Flo puffs with pride as they gaze at the highest rise of Florence and it’s rusty roofed buildings stretching as far as the eye could allow.

 

They don’t take pictures of this. Cause this is a moment they’d rather remember. Not sully it’s beauty with taking selfies or pictures to show the folks back home.

 

Flo steels herself to walk her old knees back down the stairs. Evie had a hard time peeling herself away from the view if she was honest. Such a beautiful historic city from every angle. Much more flat and low compared to the modern Milan skyline she spent days gazing at. They get back down to ground level and Flo tips their tour guide handsomely with some lose euros. She had done with their Uffizi gallery guide too. It was polite to show folks appreciation for a job well done, in her view.

 

Waking out the cold marble hall crush of the Cathedral back into the sunny warm square. Flo lights up with a smile. “That’s lunch, I think.” She suggests. “I’m famished.” She beams. Linking arms with Evie. They stroll along as Flo checks her map to check they’re heading in the right direction.

 

“I made reservations this morning. That lovely girl on the reception desk gave me several good recommendations.” She offers.

 

They potter along in the sunshine. Walking through the busy pedestrian traffic. They walk through quieter back streets and then bustling Piazzas. Evie’s cheeks brighten with pink when a wolf whistle from a passing stranger with a call of “ _Ciao Bella_.” Gets crooned their way as they are arm-in-arm. Flo answers by fluffing her hair and looking bashfully preening proud as she calls a “ _Grazie_.” Right back at the young man. He laughs and calls more Italian at them. They walk off with her blushing and Flo still giggling.

 

Evie ducks into a high end jewellers. Liking the look of a jewelled hair comb in the window. Real pretty. A bronze hair comb. With freshwater pearls, golden leaves and reining branches, with clusters of real sapphires and diamonds forming flowers on it. Evie hesitates at the window looking at the three figures it cost.

 

Flo comes in with her because she can’t be trusted alone. She went in for the hair clip. And she comes out with three pairs of earrings, one necklace, and two bracelets. Evie supposed Kylo will be pleased that they’re wearing out his credit card. The earrings alone came to over 800€.

 

She spends a good long time also choosing Kylo’s wedding ring in there too. A classic band of thick squared sterling silver. She gets it simply engraved with the date of their wedding. A classic for a classic man.

 

Flo eventually brings them to a big building nestled right on the banks of the Arno. Just off the Ponte Alla Carraia. Less busy this part of town. It isn’t the crammed cafes and cheap restaurants that tourists favour. Evie laughs. Because Flo has bought her to the Florence St. Regis hotel.

 

She cackles with excitement. Rams Evie in the ribs with her elbow excitedly. “It’s got a great bar.” She winks. “First round of cosmos on me.” She declares. Marching up to the doors. Thanking the bell boy who opens it for them with a professional nod and a smile.

 

“Or actually, is a Cosmo Italian? Maybe we should have Italian cocktails instead? What would those be?” She asks as they’re led to the bar in question. Packed into a beautiful restaurant.

 

Arched columns with a white ceiling, the bottom half of the room painted a robin egg blue. The ceiling is stained glass yellow vaulted windows. The rugs over the marble floors are swirling mustard baroque and the chandeliers are dripping gold. White linen tables and cream armchairs. Floral displays edging around the room bigger and taller than the both of them combined. Waterfalls of perfumed lilies and roses. The bar is rammed between the blue marble columns at the far end. Fantastically bright butter seats empty for them to sit at the shining walnut counter.

 

They ease into the seats and gaze around the luxury surroundings. Their asses barely touch the seats and a polite barman already has napkins in front of the both of them them and has placed a little tray of dishes filled with olives and salted nuts out for them to savour. Flo offers her hand to the barman to shake. And he does so with a laugh.

 

“Bongiorno Signore.” She peered at his gold name tag. “Giovanni. My good man. We will be your best friends this fine afternoon. And we will start with two of whatever cocktail you can recommend us...” She declares.

 

The signature cocktail happens to be a Bloody Mary. A favourite of the St. Regis chain. Only with a Florence twist. A Bloody Brunello instead, made with Grappa. They start with those. Which Flo loves but Evie is less keen. The next round is sparkling champagne and limoncello cocktails by her request.

 

“I thought we were supposed to be having Lunch?” Evie asks. When they’re two and a half cocktails in.

 

“We are. This is our starter.” Flo explains.

 

Before she can sink much more booze, Evie asks for some menus and they order some proper food at the bar where they stay to eat. Who’d have thought Evie would turn out to be the responsible one?

 

They dove right into the mains. Flo goes for a roasted Turbot served with Mediterranean medley of vegetables and served in a pool of traditional cacciucco sauce. Evie has the pan fried lamb with roasted leeks, mashed pumpkin and shavings of pecorino cheese.

 

As if they haven’t had enough booze already, Flo insisted on two extremely large glasses of Verdicchio to go with it. They share the heritage cheese platter for dessert. Flo wanted to try out some of the excellent Italian dried meats and fragrant cheeses. They finish their wine and settle the bill. Giovanni is sad to see them go. The most lively patrons he’s had all morning. Evie assists Flo down from the barstool. A lot of their walking today took a toll on her knees.

 

“Don’t worry about me honey.” Flo smiles sweetly. “We gotta find you a wedding gown. Now come on.” She insists. Not giving in to the weakness of her knees. Evie follows in her lead.

 

Flo takes them to a street where there’s a lot of bridal shops. “Or at this rate you’ll be getting married in heels and jewellery and nothin else...” Flo chuckles. Then turns to give Evie a saucy wink. “Your man might like that.”

 

“Concentrate horn-dog.” Evie smiles. Looking in the window of another chic bridal boutique. They went in. She tried on dress after dress. But nothing appealed. She tried on every cut and shape imaginable. It’s the same in the next boutique. And the one after that. Evie’s rapidly loosing hope.

 

They end up in some quiet piazza. Taking a five minute break sat on the lip of the fountain. Evie spied a gelato shop tucked away down one alley near them. “Fancy a little something sweet?” She asks Flo. Who answers absolutely. After all, Italian Gelato was a must.

 

They wander on over to the ice cream parlour. Ducking out the oppressive heat for a moment. Evie selects a sweet cherry and sharp raspberry. Flo goes for hazelnut and chocolate combo. They eat their sweet treats as they wander along the fairly busy street. Evie paused to look up at a flying buttress arch that passed overhead. When she looked downwards. Her eyes idly caught on a tiny poky Italian shopfront. Timber brown. Boutique. No big fashion names. No chic designer gowns clouding in the window in an avalanche of trendy tulle.

 

She looks at the dress in the window. And it tugs on every single one of her heartstrings.

 

It’s on a simple tailors dummy wooden mannequin. Surrounded by sheets of fake pink roses.

 

The cut is simple. Slight trims of floaty gossamer lines the shoulders and going over down the back. The neckline in a low V shape. But there’s an edge of wispy embroidery on sheer plain white lace cutting across the sternum. Resting just between the breasts. The skirts are simply cut. Not tight and suffocating in the legs. But a slight fluted shape to it. Beautiful. Simple and kissed by flowers.

 

_That_ was her wedding dress.

 

Evie smiles more because there’s a white Vespa parked next to it in the jutting shop window. Flo had wandered ahead. Evie calls her back. “Look. What do you think of that one?” She seeks. Flo’s grin tips up at the corners.

 

“I think we better go try it on, Winslow.” She hooks her arm through Evie’s and marches them on in.

 

The owner is a sweet old Nonna. Her and her daughters carefully hand make every dress. Had been in the family dressmaking business since 1862. Evie asks if she may see the dress in the window if it’s not too much bother. The Nonna insists it’s no trouble. Carefully disrobes it from the sunny window for Evie to try on. It’s the last dress of the particular collection.

 

And it’s exactly her size.

 

As she tries it on. Flo talks to the shop owner. That dress was apparently the only one ever made. Stitched with couture lace and real pearls on the buttons to the back. The back was just as pretty as the front. Layered gossamer striped over the shoulders. Falling away to a V cut out at the back right to her shoulder blades. Tied with a white sash only visible from the back to cinch the waist. Two columns of embossed stitched lace float up the shoulders over the sheer gossamer.

 

Big tears burst from Flo’s eyes when Evie steps out in it. “Darn it. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.” She chides herself. Dabbing at tears with her hankie.

 

“It’s the one.” Evie says. Typical that she should find her ideal wedding dress on a quest for gelato. Flo composes herself to admire the gown.

 

“You’ll have to wear your hair up sugar. The back is too beautiful to miss.” She suggests. Evie smiles in agreement. She never looked at herself in the mirror for very long. But she does in this dress. She’ll only have one wedding dress. If that’s not a time to admire yourself in the mirror, then when is?

 

Flo also manages to find a maid of honour dress in lapis-lazuli blue silk. Wrap around with floaty tulip cap sleeves. Evie gets another dress too. It was a bridesmaids dress. A little strapless blue one. The faintest blush of blue. With a cinched waist and a twisted pattern malforming the silk under her breasts. She’d wear that tonight for the rehearsal dinner, with the jewelled hair comb she bought earlier. And the pumps from the model runway bridal shop.

 

As Flo says when she tried on the short fluted blue silk dress that kissed her knees. “Show him what a lucky boy he is before the wedding night. Clever move.” With another one of her saucy winks. Tugging the neckline down so much lower so it only just covered her nipples. Evie hitches it back up when Flo isn’t looking.

 

They ring up their purchases with the pride of a happy job well done. Under the glass counter, Evie spies another hair accessory. It’s made of thin gold wire, twisted into a branch with pearls studded onto it. Paste diamonds form sunflowers. And gold leaves sprout off some sections of it. It’s a large hair piece. Would cover most of the back of her head. She buys it. Thinking how nice it would look twined into her braided updo on her wedding day.

 

They also buy a blue silk kerchief for Hux, for his breast pocket - he was a bridesmaid after all.

 

They thank the Nonna kindly for her help as she hands them across their dresses all safely sealed in travel bags. They heap everything into the car after Flo calls Giorgio to come pick them up. Exhausted after a hard mornings work.

 

Evie falls asleep on the car journey home. Flo rolls her cardigan into a ball and stuffs it gently under Evie’s cheek where she’s sleeping slumped against the door. She always did take care of her kids.

 

She chuckles as she then received a text from Kylo as they’re halfway home. Evie still sound asleep.

 

The text asks “ _How’d it go?_ ” Flo smiles. They’d only been apart for the morning and Kylo can’t resist checking in after his bride.

 

“ _Mission successful.“_ She jokes

 

“ _On our way back. Managed to get a bottle of 1926 rare cask MacAllan for tonight. You and me will be having one last whiskey on the terrace before dinner. For old times sake.”_ She grins as it sends.

 

The reply comes in almost straightaway; _“I thought you’d never ask, Flo ._ ”

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me your thots 💕 big or small. Saucy or fluffy - I don’t discriminate


	58. Suits and Best Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have some Twins in suits and some clever sly old woman drinking whiskey and giving off some drunk wisdom 💕
> 
> Oh and the ending be filthy too - also it’s 15k words? So. Might wanna buckle up

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Try...that one, with the Burberry shirt.” Ben suggests.

 

Kylo and Evie’s room interior was no longer a chic grey with light mink and cream accents splashed tastefully all over. Oh No.

 

Now, the decor of their bedroom was wall to wall suits. Suits in every - dark - colour, cut and fabric imaginable. Big designer names too. Gucci. Versace. Valentino. Burberry. His personal stylist had acquired quite the tasteful collection at such short notice. He even had a few custom pieces rushed to order here from Milan. Brioni and Canali. Couriered here especially. Kylo would see to it that he got an extra bonus for his hard work.

 

He is stood in front of the mirror trying to decide on the right one. He was just trying on a Valentino pebble grey three piece. Wool and mohair blend with a breathable jacquard lining. Not as heavy as some of the winter suits. The shirt he had under was a Burberry dress shirt. Starched and crisp. New cotton and fragrance of fresh fabric drifting up his nose. That niche designer stores scent wafting off the material.

 

“Not sure about the waistcoat.” Kylo frowns into the big oval mirror he’s standing in front of. It’s too hot for the mohair lined silk here. Colder weather was better for layers.

 

Buttoning up his suit jacket. Ben is reposed on the chaise behind his savagely tall twin. Amaretto sour in hand. Dressed down casual in a black dress shirt and grey boss jeans. He’s lazily giving judgement as he lounges.

 

“Then lose the waistcoat and try a different shirt. Try the eggshell Burberry.” Ben piped up. Gesturing to it with his whiskey glass.

 

“With a grey wool suit?” Kylo asks.

 

“You did ask.” Ben points out wryly. Kylo frowns more. Shrugging off the jacket and starting to unbutton the waistcoat. Ben suddenly gives a long out drawn sigh.

 

“I gotta say. This did come out of left field. Didn’t think at the start of this week that I’d be helping you pick out a suit for your wedding.” Ben smirks.

 

Kylo’s honey-black eyes catch on his twins in the mirrors reflection as he starts working on getting his shirt off. Unbuttoning it to his ribs.

 

“What’s your point?” Kylo asks. Knowing one would be lurking in his words somewhere.

 

“I never thought you or me would be the kind of guys to... you know, uh, settle?” He tells. Kylo shrugs off the ice white shirt and steps across to the bed for the shirt Ben mentioned.

 

In truth, once upon a long time ago, Kylo thought the same thing. Pre Evie. Pre Prison. Way back when.

 

Marriage never seemed like something that would crop up on his horizon. He never counted on it. His love life seemed fixed for him to continue in the vein of mildly dating and fucking the usual sorts of awful girls that cling to him for his wallet and his dick - never for his heart - and stay those two things alone.

 

Maybe one day he might have married one of them. Found one more tolerable than the rest. Maybe maybe maybe. If not for Evie, he’s sure in his future there would have been some girl or other. A corporate al business type he could stand to be around. With hair extensions and a middle part and a gym bunny figure. Him and this faceless girl of his imaginings. They would be the power couple who kept out of each other’s way. Not emotionally invested. Only caring about their status together and how it could advance their career. About the showy cars they drove or the multi-million houses they existed in.

 

That’s just it. They’d be just _existing_. Never living.

 

Kylo could’ve settled into a cold heartless reality like that very well. He would’ve been content with little or next to no polite affection between a husband and wife. He would cultivate his massively successful company and make money and that would be his sole aim and purpose in life. He’d become a bank account figure and a portfolio of investments.

 

He’d maintain appearances and fuck his wife occasionally, when really there was just, nothing. Nothing but a mild attachment at best. He wouldn’t even care if she was fucking other people behind his back. She could take ten lovers all at once for all he cared. It wouldn’t matter at all. They didn’t love each other. It was a contract all for show. Because it would have been no issue for him to have a shallow marriage.

 

He far preferred what he’d got instead.

 

He loves Evie. Truly. It’s frightening. He doesn’t know when or where such deep feeling comes from. He’ll never understand. Just recognises that he does feel it. When he’s with her he feels a way he’s never felt before in his life.

 

She broke into his clinical heart and made it start to beat. He finds quiet joys in things they do together. Of returning home to someone whose glad to see him. Who asks about his day. Cares about his working day.

 

Kneads the tense-knots out of his shoulders if it’s a particularly bad or long one. If he’s hunched those big shoulders and neck over his drawing board all day. She sits on the couch with him, next to him, on him, in his lap, pours him two fingers of MaCAllan neat in his favourite crystal whiskey glass, and listens to his regaling and whinging at the stresses of his day. Whether or not the traffic was awful. The printers on the third floor broke again. Or he was annoyed that he got coffee on his favourite Gucci shirt sleeve.

 

She sits all calm and rubs and deftly massages his hands if they’re cramping and hurt where he’s been fixing fixing fixing incompetent plans all afternoon, pinching his pencil in hold til his knuckles are sore. The feel of those little fingers pressing soft into his big stiff knuckles dusted with shimmering grey graphite, gets him groaning with love and thanks. She’s always patient. Always ready to care.

 

She, who makes him feel like he does deserve goodness in his life. In the small everyday ways that he overlooked in the past. Like when they cook together in silence - or not - as they chop and slice and be all domestic. Bumping hips as they work towards cooking their dinner. He pulls out the chopping board. She pours them their wine. He slices and she’s at the pan stirring it to sizzle and brown. And it’s just them listening to the music speakers croon as dinner simmers on the stove. She understands that sometimes she doesn’t have to talk. She just exists near his little bubble of personal space and - _by god,_ it’s always enough for him. She’s always kind. Ready to calm.

 

He likes when they can read side by side in bed. He likes it a ridiculous amount when she lays her head in his lap on his thigh to read her book in peace, and he gets the privilege to stroke her hair. Gives her scalp scritches and he oddly loves the tactile soothe of doing it.

 

Sometimes in bed they just watch stupid or classic movies. Watch really bad ones and he likes her laughing at how terrible some of them are. Even if it’s a trashy predictable rom-com she still cries at the sad parts. They brush their teeth stood at the same sink and minty bleary morning kisses after is their reward for making it out of a snug warm bed. How he draws her hair aside and kisses her neck when she’s brewing him coffee. Pushes his nose into her jaw like he wants to live there. When she reaches over to hold his hand. Without knowing it as they walk and fall in step beside each other when they’re out.

 

She’s always there. Never too far. Never too close. She can sense somehow when he needs to be left alone and when he really really doesn’t. Because now he’s got her he _really_ never wishes to be left alone ever again.

 

She’s done something powerful to Kylo that can never be undone.

 

She’s been good to him. Maybe too good. Respects him. Gives him freedom and space. Set some calm in his tempest of a soul. He’d be a fool not to marry someone so good who makes him feel slightly less rotten and worthless with each passing day.

 

“Well.” Kylo offers with a tilt of his head as he slips his arms through another shirt. “I’ve no experience with this kind of thing to offer you an explanation.” He insists. And that’s truth.

 

“I can in fact, offer nothing to say except that; it is happening. And I’m _glad_ it is.” He offers.

 

Ben nods. Looking introspective for the merest second. “I suppose she’s alright, really, your girl.” He tells blithely.

 

Kylo eyes him as he does up his cuffs. If there had been any lingering affection from Ben, left for Evie. It had been stomped out. Either by what Kylo did to him that fateful wicked night. Or by his moving on with Hux. Or maybe he’s just hiding his true feelings behind bratty indifference. Kylo hopes he isn’t. Hux doesn’t deserve that - and they do seem genuine together.

 

“Is that your blessing? Cause it’s a shit one.” Kylo snipes with a smirk. Eyes lingering cold on his twin.

 

“Do you really _need_ my blessing?” Ben asks. Narrowing his eyes all playful. Sipping his drink with smirking lips.

 

“No.” Kylo shrugs. “But in respect to Grandma’s memory, I’d like to think she’d appreciate us getting along.” He speaks up. Ben looks down. Idly twirling his glass.

 

“There’s been enough violence and abusive shit in our lives. She wouldn’t want us to continue doing that to each other.” Kylo adds.

 

“Yeah...” Ben admits. He is silent for a minute. A grand feat for hurricane solo. Always all mouth and smug humour.

 

Kylo grabs his next suit jacket. To his very great surprise. Ben then says something Kylo would never had suspected would come sailing out his selfish mouth.

 

“Grandma would have adored Evie y’know. No question. Hands down. She’d be the new favourite out of all of us three - even more than my very good charming self.” He says. Voice fond in recalling their relative.

 

“She would’ve.” Kylo’s agreeing quickly.

 

“And if she was here, she’d be fixing our ties straight and wiping our faces off with that damn handkerchief she kept balled up in her sleeve.” He smiles. Almost laughing.

 

Kylo smiles. She’d done that very thing when they’d been all capped and gowned for their college graduations. She’d cheered the loudest in the entire crowd when they got handed their diplomas. Cried so many tears of joy for her boys. _Her_ boys. _Her_ Ben. And _her_ Kylo. Because who the fuck else deserved the honour of raising them right?

 

“She’d tell you, you were the handsomest boy on the planet. Obviously a lie when we all know it’s me-“ He scoffs. “And she’d be crying happy tears with the biggest sounds imaginable when you stand up there and say your vows.”

 

“She’d like seeing you finally happy with Hux.” Kylo speaks up. Pointing it out. “Someone sensible and level-headed for you. God knows what she would’ve made of one of your playboy bunny dates.” He adds.

 

“Wanna know one of the ultimate best things about loving and dating Hux?”

 

“If it’s dirty I don’t wanna even fucking go there.” Kylo’s quick to point out.

 

“One good thing? I like to think the fact I’m dating a guy is making dad turn in his fucking grave.” He laughs proudly. “I only wished he was still alive so I could tell him face-to-fucking-face and watch that expression of his.”

 

Kylo smiles a little. If he hated Kylo for drawing, calling him a weak pussy for that, his second son’s sexual attraction to another man would have make him spit fire, fury and brimstone. He was never a church goer. But he believed staunchly in the words and morals printed in the bible. Like the true bigoted nasty fuck he was. Never so much as picked up a goddamn bible in his life - but yelled and preached the goodness and reverence from its pages when he was beating his family black and blue.

 

He would’ve seethed. Raged. He would have killed Ben for it. Because a dead son was worth more to him than a bisexual one.

 

Kylo’s trying to recall the look on his dad’s face. That displeasured cold fucking scowl that took up permanent residence in looking at his worthless kids. He’s trying to remember his voice. The one that preceded spittle and whiskey or frothy shitty beer fumes. Raining hell in his face and shouting screaming the roof down at him til the neighbours called the cops.

 

He’s ecstatic to think that he can’t picture his fathers face anymore. He tried so hard to forget. Let the memories grow stale in his mind.

 

“He’d have tried to kill you for it.” Kylo says surely.

 

Ben crooks a grin. “I know. It’s kinda satisfying. He can burn in hell for all I care. I’m gonna carry on fucking my boyfriend senseless with a big fucking grin on my face with the gratification of how much he’d hate it.”

 

“Maybe I should’ve gone and told him ‘ _I’m attracted to men’_ on his deathbed.” Ben muses cruelly.

 

“That would’ve finished him off.” Kylo assures.

 

Ben looks proud. Wasted opportunity. He sips his drink all suave. “ _Good_.”

 

Because he does think it at the back of his head when he’s fucking or blowing his gorgeous sexy redheaded boyfriend. His hands on Hux’s hips as he pounds him and he’s just thinking _“Fuck you. Old man. Fuck you. See me now huh? Huh?”_ With the most glad smile on his lips. The fact he was about to cum none-withstanding.

 

“TMI...” Kylo informs him with a face.

 

“Just continue doing the smart fucking thing for once.” He adds. Referring to his dating the nice smart male doctor. Who had an IQ beyond that of a boiled vegetable - unlike Ben’s previous partners.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all preachy on me.” Ben says. Throwing a balled up bow tie to hit Kylo’s back. It skitters off and drifts like a dead limp silk-faille butterfly crashing flightless to the floor.

 

“I’m not preaching. It’s just nice not to have to lower my IQ by two hundred points to have a conversation with one of your blonde hair and big-tits date.” Kylo’s smirking again at his twin.

 

Ben retaliates. “You know, I can’t put my finger on it... but there’s something I find so awfully hot and satisfying about the fact I’ve had my tongue right in your wife’s cunt.” He smarts right back. Kylo gives him a warning look.

 

“Always wanted to have a hot sister-in-law. Even better knowing that I’ve fucked her too.” Ben smirks wickedly.

 

“Leave it.” Kylo growls in stiff warning as he cinches a tie tight to his neck.

 

Fighting the urge to go over there garrotte his brother with it if he says anything else sordid about his intended bride.

 

Ben may have changed some aspects of his life as of late. But his cruel slutty smug sense of humour still remained. And now apparently, an incest kink lurked thereabouts. Bens brain is like Pandora’s box. _Best not to lift the lid on the monstrous things lurking within._

 

Kylo is now in the grey suit. With the eggshell shirt and a black tie. It’s a flawless combination. He must admit. He adjusts his cuffs and checks his scarred suited reflection staring back at this suit. It would like nice with a white boutonniere testing against the harsh lines of the left black velvet lapel.

 

“How about this one?”

 

“Which ones that again?” Ben is on another amaretto sour. Poured himself one more from the little end table perched near him.

 

“Valentino.” Kylo answers. Ben makes a face. Kylo rolls his eyes.

 

“Try a lighter one...” Comes the half-assed advice from his intoxicated best man.

 

“Colour or fabric?” Kylo seeks

 

“Listen, high-lord-of-all-suffering-I-only-dress-in-angsty-black. Why not try an actual colour? You’re not an 18th century widow in mourning. Try something other than black for fucks sake. It’s your wedding. No one died.” Ben points out.

 

His twin had always been afraid of colour. Always dressed like he listened to Cradle of Filth, and slept in a coffin, and didn’t know clothes came in any other colour than matte black or jet black or onyx black. He dressed well - there could be no denying it. Such a ruthless amount of money he threw at his wardrobe. He couldn’t manage not to look good. He had class and taste. He always wanted to look up to date. Cleanest cuts. Biggest fashion names.

 

Ben supposed its because it went with his whole extreme image. Stacked. Tall. Scarred. Almost every inch of skin that wasn’t scrawled in ink, was lashed with scars. Pierced too. He’d been littered with more piercings when he was younger. Hoops in his ears. A tongue stud. Nipple rings were the only ones he kept and that’s cause they could be hidden. He had to try and blend into a professional business setting.

 

A lifetime of dark abusive pain written on his body by the tip of a needle. Ben had some superficial scars dotted around his body. But nothing compared to him. Kylo truly had taken the brunt of it all. Even times when it had been Bens fault. It was 50/50 whether their father gave the beating to him, or to Kylo.

 

It had mostly always been Kylo.

 

He was bigger. The eldest son. He was always in the firing line. Always the walking target. Ben put himself in the fray of punishment sometimes. When he really couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand Kylo’s screams as dad put cigarettes out on his arms knowing they should have been his. Or couldn’t take another fucking minute of listening to their father snap his brothers ribs with another brute kick.

 

The nausea-guilt would sometimes settle heavy on Ben when teachers at school would ask why Kylo wasn’t in class. Ben didn’t like to say that his twelve year old brother was in the hospital with a suspected punctured lung from being beaten to within an inch of his life. He just said he had allergies. Or asthma.

 

He watches his big brother - in many many more ways than one - take off the jacket and tie, reaching for a different suit.

 

He reaches for a deep sultry navy Brioni. He had ten or twelve of these at home. All different cuts. But this was fresh off the custom tailors dummy. He had his stylist put in for two days ago, classic cut in a unique rich fabric, cost just shy of thirty thousand. Had the suit rushed here special from Milan for today. If he chooses this one; the journalist from the magazine covering the wedding will mention this suit for the work of bespoke art it absolutely is.

 

“Do you ever think about, like, our futures?” Ben asks suddenly. Head tilted back. He was nearly lying down now. Utterly reposed.

 

“Good god. You must be drunk.” Kylo murmurs. Working on getting off his shirt to put on another one. Arms stretched behind his chest as he shucks the sleeves off. Fabric catching on his biceps. Tattooed chest rippling as his muscles move. Nipple rings glinting lazy on the sunshine that ebbs in the room from the thrown open terrace doors.

 

“I’m just curious.” Ben speaks up.

 

“I didn’t think you’d go in for the whole white picket fence life.” He turns his head wheres he slouched back to meet Kylo’s eyes.

 

“You’ve got the amazing house. The cute-hot wife. The grandparents. What’s next? You gonna go all the way and get a retriever? Maybe have a couple of kids... Start living that good school district life.” He smiles.

 

“I don’t think that’s exactly any of your business.” Kylo tells him. Ben tilts his head all smug. _That wasn’t exactly sounding like a ‘no’_

 

“Hux said if we’re ever to have kids, we should start off with adopting another cat or a dog first.” Ben says.

 

He has actually been looking around the local shelters back home. May have seen a year old grey Staffordshire terrier puppy called ‘Bagel’ that he was seriously considering giving a home.

 

May have already inadvertently sort of signed the papers and paid the $200 to bring him home. Got a date to go pick him up too. Just was waiting for the right moment to tell his boyfriend about it. He used to be in the habit of picking up stray women for the night. Now he’s picking up stray dogs and bringing them home. _Maybe he is a changed man?_

 

Kylo’s silent. But he does eventually speak up.

 

“I don’t think me and you are really the ideal candidates who should be looking into reproducing.” He confesses honestly.

 

All he can think is if him and Evie do have kids, that Kylo will pass his ASPD onto them. And that’s no life for a kid. He can’t be a good enough parent either. Not with the way he is. Not the way their little baby would deserve.

 

“Speak for yourself. I’m delightful.” Ben gestures all down himself. “Every inch. Pure delight.” He winks.

 

“Babies are messy. Loud and expensive. Doesn’t your boyfriend have his hands full enough with the one helpless breast-fixated infant he’s already got in his life?” He smirks.

 

Ben gives him the finger. But he’s smirking wide. The usual affection present in their banter. “Fuck you.”

 

Kylo smiles. Standing into the navy suit trousers. Pulling them up his wide tattooed hips. Zipping up the fly and leaving them unbuttoned, catch flapping open to get his shirt tucked into them. He pulls on a white dress shirt. Dolce he thinks. So many big names labels in here that he’s lost track.

 

“By the way. My duties as a best man... I hold both wedding rings right?” Ben asks lazily. Cheekily. Curling open his palm and beckoning with crooking fingers. Telling him to hand it over.

 

Kylo eyes him suspiciously. “You’re asking me to trust you with my fiancée’s half a million dollar wedding ring?” Kylo seeks.

 

“I take my duties very seriously.” Ben smirks. Honest hand cupping over his despicable heart.

 

Kylo grumps. Strides towards his bedside and yanks open the drawer. Shirt flapping gaping open at his chest. Bare feet and half dressed in his suit. Hands over to Ben the pouting rounded pouch of a little velvet black box.

 

He wastes no time in snapping it open. Checking out the white silk lined box where a big chunk of diamonds and silver is studded central. Brows shooting up his head when he sees what inside. He whistles low.

 

“Harry Winston. Channel set Princess cut. Nice.” He admires.

 

32 square diamonds surrounded with the gleaming band of platinum setting sandwiching the gems in. Total of nearly 6 and a half carats for the whole ring. No expensive spared. And Kylo knew it would look just right sat next to her gold family engagement ring.

 

“Lose this and I’ll break your fucking nose and both your arms.” Kylo says after handing it to him gruffly. Ben mocks him with a salacious grin.

 

“I’ll protect it with my life.” He leers.

 

“It’s worth significantly more than that.” He says as he tucks the shirt and fully fastens the trousers. Turns and picks up the jacket. Slips it on over his arms and looks at himself in the mirror.

 

“So grouchy for a man whose tying the knot in matrimonial bliss in a mere 48 hours.” Ben hits right back.

 

Kylo buttons up his suit. Makes a barely acknowledging noise to Ben.

 

“Ugh ok God. I want Evie back in here. You’re practically a ray of fucking sunshine when she’s around.” Ben points out loudly. Kylo smiles a little at that.

 

“I gotta say though. Arthur and Flo are real nice folks. Her elderly friend is a real peach. She reminds me slightly of a more alcoholic version of Grandma.” He points out.

 

Kylo chuckles. That’s exactly what Flo means to him. All that and more. That sweet old lady who loves him to pieces.

 

Sorting through the pile for a suitable tie. Ben flicks a white one at him. “Light colours won’t infect you.” He interjects. Kylo ignores his quip.

 

“Flo wouldn’t be Flo without her alcohol.” Kylo smiles in the mirror. Working the tie into a Windsor knot. Their Gran barely drank a drop. Only a little drop of French brandy. And even then, only at Xmas.

 

“She’s a good person.” Ben insists. “Handsy but good.”

 

“A glowing testament.” Kylo said. Usually, knowing her as he does, Flo doesn’t give two flying fucks about what people think about her. That’s something Kylo can appreciate.

 

“She’ll love you forever, if you let her.” Kylo points out. “Evie’s the same.” He points out.

 

“Evie doesn’t love me.” Ben scoffs. Twirling his whiskey glass. He’s pretty sure she despises his guts.

 

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s never hated anyone.” Kylo speaks truthfully. She told him so herself once. In plain forceful words with that diamond cut honesty sparkling her eyes and that wilful slant of her chin. _So so honest and good._

 

“Can’t understand the fuck how, but. To each her own.” Kylo says. Point blank. Matter of factly.

 

There’d been a severe lack of people for him and Ben to look up too in their young lives. No one good. And now here they both were with partners on their arms worth their weight in gold and more. _Whoever would’ve thought it?_

 

Ben makes a contemplative face.

 

“Your kitten really looks hard to see the good in people, doesn’t she?” Ben states. Evie has found love in the most grumpy cold killer. That had to be worthy of greatness.

 

“She usually finds it.” Kylo says seriously. Twisted his head. Looking right at his brother.

 

“Then why-ever is she marrying your sorry sad ass?” He quips.

 

“Evie does look for the nice parts in people. It’s how she is. And Flo? Flo would take even the likes of you in no questions asked.” Kylo explains. It baffles him. Genuinely baffles him that both of them are so kind and considerate in that way.

 

He’s a cold blooded murderer. A killer without conscience. Evie knows this. And yet she reaches for his hand like he wouldn’t ever hurt a fly.

 

“If Flo decides she loves you, there’s no getting out of it. No escaping it. That’s it. She’ll start force feeding you cookies and lemonade and have a spot ready at the family table for you and Hux at thanksgiving. Your personalised craft decorations up on her tree.” Kylo points out.

 

Ben’s smiling. Helping himself to yet another drink. “Well. I happen to think she’s kinda great. Promised she’d thrash my ass at poker later after dinner.” He says with a chuckle.

 

Kylo crooks a brow. “Be very careful with that.” Why does he have a feeling Flo is a very skilled ruthless card shark? That’s just the air she exudes.

 

He finishes with his tie and examines himself in the mirror again. Fixes his cuffs as he stares at the reflection. Not half bad. Sapphire ink suit. White shirt. White tie. He looks down at his bare feet and crosses to the numerous shoe boxes that had been sent him.

 

“Go for Tan ones.” Ben idles from his chaise. Flicking through his phone. Whiskey in the other hand.

 

Kylo sighs as he flicks over box lids to find a brown pair. Settles on a pair of oxford square toe cap Laboutin’s. Signature red soles too. He slips socks on and sits on the slab of the made bed to tie them on.

 

He looks once more at the whole ensemble. It seemed odd that he wasn’t getting married in black. Maybe he was a stickler, but that was his traditional colour choice. He thought that applied to weddings. But what the hell does he know after all?

 

“Sexy.” Ben comments. Whistling. After putting his phone down. Kylo ignores him mostly. Looking at the fine suit in the mirror.

 

“This is the one then...” Kylo’s asking.

 

“Yes. Also cause I look damn fine in blue.” Ben leers. Springing up to unzip the bag with his matching Brioni suit in it to pair with Kylo’s.

 

“I’m so glad you take into consideration what’s really important.” Kylo comments dryly.

 

“White tie?” Ben asked.

 

“Take your pick...” Kylo nods to the massive mountains of designer cloth on the bed. Ben plucks out a rock-salt white tie. A Tom Ford one.

 

“Try the waistcoat with that one too?” Ben pipes up.

 

Kylo agrees - albeit reluctantly. Slips off his jacket and tugs the satin backed thing on. They had to custom the cut of his shoulders for the thing. Regular fit doesn’t have a hope to tailor to his exceptional body shape. He’s broad shouldered and his chest is a massively unique expanse of muscle.

 

He doesn’t want to admit it. But the whole ensemble looks pretty good. Even if it isn’t jet black. Maybe warmer colours were the way to go. Especially for a fairly summery wedding outdoors in the heavy-harsh Italian sun.

 

Ben slips off his jeans and shirt and pulls on his Brioni suit. Making sure his fit right too. It sat well on him. Both suits did. They always looked so impeccably good in suits. It’s a family trait perhaps.

 

Ben buttons his jacket up and preens in the mirror like a bright navy blue peacock. Suit to match Kylo’s right down to the tie and the handmade tan shoes.

 

“What do you wanna do for your bachelor party? Any preferences?” Ben smugs in the mirror. Still preening and grooming in the mirror. Kylo’s on the other side of the room taking his suit off. Shrugging off the suit jacket and getting out the waistcoat. Hanging it up ready. _Ready to get married in it._

 

Kylo sighs. “Something elegant. Sophisticated. And tasteful.” He comments. “So that’s all your ideas out the window.”

 

“No strippers? Cause I ordered three especially all for you.” He winks.

 

Kylo’s glaring at the back of his twins head.

 

“It’s a cardinal rule. You gotta get one last lap dance off some gorgeous glitter covered stranger before you’re manacled to one woman for the rest of your life.” Ben continues.

 

Kylo’s shedding his shirt with annoyance. “How about we do something I actually want?” He growls low. “Like some place that does five star fillet steak, cigars and huge casks of whiskey, rather than whatever trashy hooker you have booked.”

 

“Sure? She’s real hot? Great tits. Just about as good as Evie’s.” He teases.

 

“You want a black eye in my wedding photos cause I’ve no problem in giving you one.” Kylo offers.

 

“Now now. Save some of that sweet talk for the wedding night.” Ben grins.

 

Kylo growls annoyed. Like thunder rolling across the deep plain of his chest.

 

“Grouchy bastard.” Ben leers at him. Still peacocking in the mirror.

 

A little shuffling of orthopaedic sandaled feet skitter across the terrace. And Kylo looks across just in time to see Flo appear around the terrace doors. Arms laden with shopping bags. Rustling and rattling as she moved. Her face splits into a wide hearty grin on seeing both of the boys. One snowy brow shoots up her forehead at the sight of Kylo with his shirt off.

 

“Scuse me sugar. Just thought I’d tell you we’re back.” She beams. Clutching onto the terrace door. Merely poking her head around it. But she managed to snag a good eyeful. Her eyes gleam wicked with the naughtiness of it. Kylo pulls the white tee from earlier on back over his head. Smoothed it down his ribs. Ben turns to face her, giving her a lopsided smile.

 

“You guys have a good time? Where’s Evie?” Kylo asks with a gentle smile.

 

“She can’t catch ya in your wedding suit honey! Bad luck.” She winks.

 

“I sent her off to my room for a good old long soak in the tub. She’s got a new dress to wear later and she’ll get ready there. I just came to grab a couple things for her.”

 

“You really take the wedding superstition stuff seriously?” Ben asks her.

 

“Serious as a heart attack sweetheart.” She assures Ben cannily.

 

Kylo walks to their bathroom to grab her makeup bag and some of her other things. He picks up the tatty rose patterned wash bag with the stained lining and the broken gold zip. It had the initials AJW stitched onto the fabric in gold thread. He didn’t need to ask whose initials those were. Nor did he offer to replace it. It was Evie bringing a little bit of home with her - that’s what it was.

 

He offers Flo her things and she takes them. Heaving the bags up in her arms so she didn’t drop anything. Ben steps to her aid before Kylo gets a chance.

 

“Here. Let me help you to your room.” He smiles.

 

Flo looks surprised. “Oh, bless you sweetie.” She coos. Holding Ben’s arm affectionately. Then she chuckles. “I bet you’ve said that a girl or two in your time.”

 

“Try two hundred.” Kylo remarks under his breath. Smirking.

 

Ben gives him a smarmy grin. Flo totters out. His twin takes that moment to retort. Never did Ben Solo miss an opportunity to remind the world of how slutty he is.

 

“Believe I said it to yours once...” Ben lifts a cheeky brow in mocking.

 

“Bags honey.” Flo calls from the terrace. Calling back to him. “Yes ma’am.” Ben steps quick to it.

 

“Kylo. Now don’t go forgetting our whiskey on the terrace at six.” She reminds him in a called afterthought. “I will drag you there by one of them ears if I have too.”

 

_‘Of course you would._ ’ Kylo’s thinking.

 

“I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be there.” He smiles nicely.

 

Kylo crosses his arms and watches his twin slip away after the woman. She issues strict instructions to him on the terrace. “Now. Don’t let her see your suit either.” She warns.

 

“On my honour.” Ben mimes crossing his heart with that playful grin he’s so infamous for.

 

Flo scoffs. “You look about as trustworthy as a broken clock.” She comments dryly. Ben laughs. Truly deeply laughs at her acerbic wit.

 

Kylo’s hanging up the rest of his wedding suit back up - so it doesn’t crease. He as going to grab a long shower and get ready for his very important whiskey date to keep.

 

He steps in the big shower and watches the slanted sun of late afternoon blaze over the vineyard. Turning the creamy flagstone floor and Chantilly walls of the bathroom a soft kissed peach. Palm fronds from the plant pot in the corner by the window, striping leafy green shade across the big glass shower wall he’s in that’s all steamed up and beading with water. He rubs all up with soap, thinks of how he misses his fiancée, even not seeing her for a few hours and he misses her sweet little smile and her face beaming love up at him.

 

Then he scrubs his fingers through his hair and washes it with his expensive Aqua Di Parma shampoo. Washes away the suds and steps out. Wipes off the wet from his hair and slings another big fluffy bath sheet around his hips. Goes to choose a new suit for tonight. For drinks with Flo. And for their rehearsal dinner. He selects the smoky coloured flecked wool blend Valentino, with the velvet black lapels. Black buttons decorating in a neat line on the cuffs. He chooses a breathable linen blend white shirt and leaves the collar unbuttoned down to just above his breastbone.

 

It gets colder in the vineyard at night anyway. After the heat rises muggy out the close twisted confines of the olive grove trees. He dries off and dresses up ready. Pat of cologne and finished off with a Patek Phillipe vintage calatrava watch.

 

He steps out onto the terrace and buttons his jacket. Pulling the doors up after him. Bringing the curtains across so the room stays cool for them for later tonight. No matter how much breeze comes in they still wake up all sweat-sticky. Kylo likes waking up first and then his hands are gripping her tacky round hips. It’s one of his all time favourite things about having Evie in their bed. Fitting her pouting handles of hipbones into his big paws as she sleeps. Waking her up. She rouses with that little breathy mumbled mewl he loves, slips from her lips.

 

He crosses past the still pool. Ripples shiver across the blue skin of the surface. Breeze quakes the trees to tremble. Bay and olive scents swirling around him as he walks out the walled door. Up the steps to the main hotel terrace. He hadn’t skimped price or quality on anything. Ben and Flo both got the next best suites in the place. Flo and Arthur had the estates grand suite. Ben and Hux had the equally superior garden suite. The entire south wing of the hotel for heavens sake. Both were rooms of such fine quality. Nothing in this hotel was anything less.

 

He steps up onto the terrace and lo and behold. His determined little whiskey obsessed date is already waiting on him. Sat by a pair of terrace doors spilling open from the hotel lounge. The view so wide and creasing hills and open in front of the two arm chairs she’s hogged, is just a green-gold vista of pure Italy. Grape vines on rolling Tuscan hills. Such a delectable view at sunset.

 

It’s breathtaking. He’s always thought so. In a way he is glad that Evie asked to have their wedding here. As much as he would’ve liked the homeliness and tradition of a wedding back in the states, he had to admit it was so stunning here it’d seem like a wasted opportunity to go home and have it there.

 

Oh, it would’ve been such a sweet southern affair back home though. He can just see it now;

 

A summer wedding. When the magnolia trees in town are fragrant and budding in bloom. Garlands of daisies and sweet yellow flowers looped up over the walnut pews in the chapel. One of those cute little white panelled chapels. Ones that look impossibly neat and almost fake it’s so picturesque. He could see it all so easily and it makes him smile. The reception would be on Flo and Arthur’s back lawn - Evie’s house was way too small for the sheer amount of people that would want to come - Many many trestle tables covered in white linens and lace with hand picked daises for centrepieces in mason jars. Accents of yellow ribbon in there too.

 

They’d have a hundred guests. Chapel rammed right to the seams knowing Evie. Knowing how many people love and adore her and want to see her get married to the tall dark man who swooped her off her feet. All of the town would be there if necessary. They’d have a local swing band and a set up Dancefloor right there on the lawn.

 

She’d dance with the kids and daisy and eddy and everyone who asked. With the flower girls and the paige boys. Until her feet hurt. She’d give her old timer friends a whirl on the floor to “What a night” by Frankie Valli. He’s certain he’d be coaxed into giving one of Flo’s book group gals a turn on the floor. They’d most likely all relish a chance to dance with the groom - and let’s face it those old horny ladies would try and grab at his ass like there’s no tomorrow. Not to mention fawn over Ben too. And Hux.

 

It would be such a family and friends and the whole town affair that their wedding day would be so rammed full of love and laughing and home made cake and familiar faces and great cooked food. Very small and intimate and from the heart. Every meaningful second of it.

 

Their wedding here will be no less full of love. Just slightly less chaotic. And way more homely-Italian elegance.

 

He walks up to Flo with the biggest smile on his face. A dark haired waitress in black is just unloading two hexagonal tumbler glasses filled with ice on the low table off a tray. Flo thanks her in Italian and starts pouring from the bottle of MacAllan into the glasses. A hearty slip of amber turning rusty-gold in the evening sunlight. Ice cracks and shifts where she pours the liquor.

 

Kylo smiles nicely to their waitress as he unbuttons his jacket and sits down opposite his most favourite drinking buddy. She’s wearing one of her pink flannel dresses. With ruffles on the sleeves and low heeled blush pink fancy shoes. A neat Faberge gold broach pinned to one side of her chest. Pink up-do sleek as usual. Bright cherry lipstick on. Eyes sparkling with their usual form of mischief.

 

He waits for Flo to finish pouring healthy slugs of single malt in both glasses. He picks up his glass and she leans across and thunks it with a thing glass clink into his. Ice rattles and the drink inside sloshes.

 

“Here’s to your weddin. Sweet pea.” She winks across at him. “A thousand blessings on you both.” She says seriously with that glimmer in her eyes and the upturn of her lips. When she leans across the table he gets a great gust of Chanel No.5 and rose talc smacking him in the nose.

 

“I’m delighted you’re here to see it.” And he means that. _He absolutely does._

 

“Your brother is too. I was having a lil chat with him earlier.” Flo says as she sipped her whiskey.

 

“Roughly how many apologies do I need to make to excuse him?” Kylo asks flatly. Grinning.

 

Flo smiles like a determined champion. “Oh honey. I have dealt with a fair few loud mouthed ladies men in my time. The naughty boys never change.” She winks. “They’re easy to handle.” She assures him. Waving a hand like it’s no big deal.

 

How typically Flo for her to just take all of Ben and his pouting and his crude cruel humour in; in one go. Like it wasn’t even a challenge.

 

“He’s alright under all that smart bullshit he gives off.” She concedes. “You poor boys had to deal with so much nasty stuff is it a wonder he acts the way he does? It’s just the blabber and the noise that’s meant to distract from what’s really going on.” She supposes quietly.

 

“He’s always been a loud mouth. What dad always hated.” Kylo tells as he takes a deep drink.

 

Time was he couldn’t say or share this painful barbed memory without her. But now? He feels like he can open up just a fraction to his family. His fierce little matriarch who had nothing but love to give him in big clutched handfuls.

 

“Let is not ruin this gorgeous view, and this whiskey, dwelling on the past. Leave that awful man and his cruelty behind. Look how far you’ve come, baby. And be so very proud of it.” She smiles. “I know I am.” She adds.

 

Kylo smiles at her. _She’s proud of him._ Every word out her mouth dripping familial fond love and honesty.

 

“Evie’s the best out of all those things.” He says. And there is no lie; out of his company, his CEO title, his wealth, his power and his influence. She’s the absolute crowning glory of all of it. Worth more than all those material and business things put together.

 

“I actually find I can’t wait to marry her.” Kylo’s confessing where he knows he won’t get laughed at or made fun of for admitting it.

 

He averts his eyes and he’s looking at his whiskey glass as he swirls the ice cubes. He didn’t usually take it with ice. He took it neat. But the cold is nice stinging at his lips on this muggy evening.

 

“Well. That’s awful nice and refreshing to hear a man admit that he wants to marry the woman he’s engaged too. Doesn’t see marriage as a trap like most men do.” She says. Leaning back. Glass in her lap. Both of them staring at the golden sunset of the view. The suns dipping real low.

 

Maybe the difference is that most men don’t have a woman like Evie walking down the aisle toward them.

 

“Did you guys have fun today?” He asks.

 

“Florence was beautiful. We had a fantastic time with plenty of cocktails and renaissance art, bridal shops and sightseeing.”

 

“Getting my bride drunk you troublemaker?” He jokes with her.

 

“Only a little.” She confesses. Looking very pleased with herself.

 

“Now-“ She pipes up. “As self appointed Maiden of Honour, it is my duty to inform you that I’m a traditionalist and I believe in doing things proper. So. Tonight. Will be the last night you see your bride before she’s walking up the aisle to you on your wedding day.” She points a stern finger at him.

 

“People still do the whole ‘not seeing the bride’ thing?” Kylo asks with mirth.

 

He personally didn’t like the sound of sleeping in an empty bed tonight without being wrapped around his Kitten. But. Flo _is_ in charge as she just rightfully pointed out. And he wouldn’t like to be the unlucky foolish man who challenges her.

 

“People may not. But here at the Ren Winslow wedding. We sure as hell do.” She tells him.

 

“So you better give her a great big goodnight smooch tonight before you both go to sleep. She’ll move into the suite next to ours and we’ll do the bachelor and bachelorette parties tomorrow before the wedding the day after that.” She promises.

 

A whole 48 hours without seeing Evie? Knowing she’s close by? But out of his sight? He doesn’t even like the merest thought of it. But he won’t let Flo not have her own way.

 

“Well. If it is bad luck...” He begins. Half heartedly giving up his approval. Flo grins.

 

“Good boy.” She pours him more whiskey as a reward. Spills a dribble on his hand where he’s holding the glass.

 

“I also wanted to ask you about your vows. Ben said you hadn’t written them yet?” She urges gently.

 

Kylo sighs a little. Grinds his teeth.

 

“Truthfully. I don’t know what to write. How to-“ He struggles to express it. Annoyed at himself. He loves Evie. _God he does._ But the right words didn’t always come to his tongue.

 

“Words. Don’t come easy to me. And I- she deserves to hear so much.” He worries inflexibly.

 

“Ok. Ok.” Flo pats his hand in comfort. Seeing his big body stiffen in discomfort. She nods. Calming him. Sensing his disappointment at himself bristling.

 

“Don’t fret sweetie. We can take that worry right off your plate right now. Why don’t you do it in a letter?” She suggests.

 

“A letter?” He frowns.

 

“A love letter.” She answers.

 

“The Bride and Groom can write love letters to each other to read on their weddin day. Before the ceremony, you both exchange them. They’re sealed so only you two read em’.” She says.

 

Kylo nods. Flo isn’t done persuading him just yet.

 

“Then you can do quick simple ‘I-do’s’ and we can get onto the reception partying and drinking the good wine real quick.” She winks.

 

He smirks at her cunning. She pats his hand again. Knowing he might be internalising his worries. “Listen here honey. All a wedding really is, is a _show_. It’s ceremony and tradition and rituals to enshrine and celebrate the love that two people have for each other. That’s what it all boils down too.”

 

“Now, I grant you, I don’t remember much of my wedding. It was two thousand centuries ago. But I can remember plain as day the way I _felt._ How we loved each other. That’s all I remember feeling all throughout my wedding day.” She tells him.

 

“Tomorrow you can find a nice quiet spot, wherever you feel comfy, cosy up with a pen and paper and a whiskey or two and just... write about you feel. Plain and simple. Don’t have to stand up and say it in front of everyone when she’s the only one who needs to hear it.” She says.

 

“That Love is what stands the test. Trust me. And you and Evie have it in spades sweetie. Anyone who’s seen you two knows that. When you write her that letter? Say it from the heart. The feelings matter. The words will come after. They don’t matter as much, I promise you.” She assures.

 

He does feel calmed by that. “You always know what to say.” He grants her in respect. Smile returning to his lips. Eyes gleaming warm rich walnut and kind. They turned into pools of ringing charcoal edged with honey in the reaches of the dying sun.

 

“A talent few possess I feel. Now freshen me up. Hon. My ice cubes are getting a lil dry.” She rattled her glass across at him.

 

When she topped him up she left the bottle - now with a very large amount gone out of it - nearer him. He uncorks it and does as he’s told.

 

He pours her more and himself too. And they sit back, tipping far back in their chairs. Sinking into the cushions. Apricot orange now fills up the sky. Slashed in a cradle of rosebud pink. Racked onto golden rays of the sunshine dipping below the darkening horizon.

 

Kylo and Flo drink - a lot more. And talk - a little more. Time for the rehearsal dinner creeps ever closer and closer.

 

In Flo’s room, Evie slips out the bathroom in her dressing gown to fetch her dress. She’s just finished having her bath and doing her hair and makeup. She put her hair up with the diamond clip Kylo brought her. Braided some pretty plaits into the back and swirls it all up. She slips some pavé diamond drop earrings in her ears. Like silver dribbling down her neck with round diamonds. She forgoes a necklace for tonight. Not wanting to overdo it with the Jewels.

 

She zips up the beautiful blush blue silk and fastens the zip. And sits on the bed to wrap the silver heel straps around her ankles. Idly wondering where Flo got too. She said she’d help Evie do something pretty with her hair. Arthur took himself off for his evening walk through the vineyard before dinner. Ben and Hux were, presumably, otherwise engaged.

 

Evie steps out onto Flo’s terrace overlooking the gardens. Tried to see if she’s dozed off somewhere on the patio. In the day bed or in the sun lounger. But nothing. She decides to go in search of anyone. She shuts the door after herself. Everyone else had keys. She walks back through the gorgeous sun-setting gardens. Green leaves now shine copper Adoring the scent of jasmine and bay in the air. Rife, like perfume. Like the whole place was under a mist of fine expensive fragrance. She says good afternoon to the gardeners she passes. Slips down the steps and walks down to the pool house. She used her key card to open the door.

 

It’s silent here too. The pool is still. The curtains to the bedroom drift lazily in the hot air. “Kylo?” She calls out. Walks in the bedroom. Checks all over the suite. The bathroom. He’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s already down on the vineyard for dinner. She crosses back out the terrace. Dainty clack of her heels hit the stone. She gets out the walled door. Shuts the heavy dragging thing behind her. Heads down to the vineyard. She may aswell. That must be where everyone else is.

 

She heads through onto the terrace, glancing down it. Pausing when she catches sight of two familiar faces. Sat on the patio. Overlooking the view. Flo leaning forwards to pour Kylo more whiskey. They hadn’t seen her. She’s too far away. But she is smiling so wide at the pair of them. She won’t disturb their private moment. She carefully picks her way down the steps. Down to one of the gardens that leads to the orchards.

 

She’s stopped to admire some beautiful flowers on the arched trellis when shifting shoes crackle on the pea shingle gravel behind her. “Hey Babydoll.” Comes a low purr.

 

She turns to see Ben striding towards her. Hands in his dark suit pockets. Dark black suit with a navy shirt. Undone low to his breastbone. Tan leather watch on his wrist. Top of the infamous scar from the infamous night poked up from behind his collar. Sun slanting marigold light across that handsome mole-marked face. Kissed by sunset and beauty.

 

She smiles sweetly at him. He stops a foot away from her admiring. “You look pretty.” He says openly. She nods at his suit.

 

“So do you.” She tells back. There’s another slow second of silence passing. He moves his arm with his hand still socketed into his pocket. Gesturing his elbow to her. “Walk you to dinner?” He asks.

 

She tentatively takes his arm. Loops it through his. They fall into slow step together. Walk softly through the quiet garden. Evie feels she should say something to him. There’s so much history hidden between them. Not all of it is nice.

 

To her complete amazement - he breaches the silence first...

 

“I know we’ve had our... _well_. We’ve had our run in’s together. Me and you.” He lets out.

 

“We have.” She agrees. Back when she was a employed crime writer and - she believed - he was a charming half of two twins. She’s glimpsed past that facade now.

 

“Ben I’d hate to think that your dislike for me would keep you from seeing your brother.” She starts. Wetting her lips and looking ahead as she spoke. Finding the words.

 

When she looks up his eyes search hers for a long slow second. She can’t tell the expression on his face. But it’s stern and serious. She didn’t think he did that.

 

“I don’t dislike you.”

 

She blinks. Seemingly startled. “ _Oh_. I just thought...”

 

“I’ve been a complete dick to you at times. But I don’t dislike you.” He says honestly.

 

She smiles a little. Awkwardness blushing at her cheeks. “When I first met you I think had the biggest crush on you.” She explains.

 

His eyes look warmer now. Less serious. He nods. “I think I liked you a little bit too. But. Perhaps in hindsight it’s for the best we never took it further. You’re a much better match for him. Fuck knows how- grouchy old bastard he is. Doesn’t deserve all your sweetness.” He winks.

 

“I admit that I wanted to get back at him. Because you chose him.” He says openly. “I hated coming second so I decided to play dirty. Get back at him that way via you.” He says plainly.

 

She nods. He did things motivated purely out of spite and pain and selfishness. She’s suspected that much. She just never believed she’d see the day when he’d confess to it.

 

He’s been having behavioural therapy. Hux suggested it as part of the changes he made to be with him. It was his second chance. He fucking hated talk therapy. But he’ll do it for him. If it grants him a second chance. He was reluctant and angry at first.  
  


But Hux put his foot down. Crosses his arms. Doesn’t budge like the bossy bitch he is. Told him to consider it if he wanted to be in his life. He recommended a colleague therapist for him to see. He blows ridiculous amounts of money per session. They were expensive. And the best. He goes. Every week he goes to see them. Even though it makes him grit his teeth. He’s leaving behind the crazy partying, the poisonous slutty exes and the copious amounts of drugs.

 

He felt different already. Sobering up to it all. Literally. It wasn’t easy. But. Maybe things worth having weren’t easy? Who the fuck knows. Maybe Hux has him whipped. He doesn’t mind that, actually. It’s not as terrible as he once thought it would be....Stability. A kind partner. Someone who cares for him for more than his wallet, his weed dealer, or his dick. He was used to getting through three secretary’s a month and four girls and maybe a guy in one weekend. It’s different. A very _good_ sort of different.

 

She curls her other hand to touch his elbow in comfort.

 

“Putting all that in the past. Ancient history. Do you think we can we be friends? I’d really love that. In fact that can be my wedding present?” She asks hopefully.

 

That’s honestly what she wants. She wants peace. Doesn’t want to be at war with anyone. Especially not with the only family Kylo had left.

 

“Depends.” He bargains. Her face falls.

 

“Depends on what?” She seeks.

 

“Make me about fifty of those sour cream and peach pies? And you absolutely have yourself a deal.” He nudged her hip with his. She laughs loudly.

 

He smiles at the sight. Chuckles too. He finds himself chuckling.

 

He brings them to a stop and leans up to pucker one kiss on his cheek. Had to lean on tiptoes. “Deal.” She beams.

 

“You’re alright you know. Ben Solo.” She suspects. Narrowing her eyes. “Without the drugs and the drink and the foul model dates.” She says. He rolls his eyes.

 

“I much prefer the real you.” She insists.

 

He’s far more palatable like this. Happy. In love? Maybe even contented for once in his life. The hungry selfish void inside him finally filled.

 

“Hey I’m taken and you’re engaged. Stay in your lane. Too late to run off into the sunset with me now, babydoll. You made your choice.” He smarts. She shakes her head lightly at his humour.

 

“He’s lovely you know.” She elbows him.

 

“Kylo? I wouldn’t believe that.” He says.

 

“No.” She laughs. “And he’s lovely to me.” She defends.

 

“That’s cause you’re sleeping with him.” He lies.

 

“Ben.” She chides. “Seriously. He is.”

 

“Who?” He pauses.

 

“Your boyfriend.” He sighs and nods. Looking annoyed with the fact everyone kept on saying it.

 

“Tell you a secret?” He says low and flirty.

 

She smiles back. “Of course.”

 

“He’s asked me to go to London with him in the autumn to meet his Mom.” He tells. _And he really wants to go_.

 

Hell. He’s fucking looking _forwards_ to it. If he told Kylo that, he’d be ribbed at for sure. The once play boy famous bachelor turning soft for the man he loves.

 

“That’s fantastic news, Ben.” She awards him.

 

“You tell Kylo and I’m standing up and objecting to your vows.” He threatens coolly. Voice sinking low and dangerous. Of course he would. Ben Solo isn’t completely changed after all. Bratty humour still remains.

 

“Secrets safe with me.” She assures.

 

He grunts. “Good.”

 

“Babe.” Comes a call behind them. Hux is not far behind. Walking those long suited legs in big strides up the gravel path. He’s in a pebble grey suit with a light blue shirt the colour of a cobalt sky. He smiles as he comes closer to them.

 

“Evie. You look lovely.” He says at her. Leaning in to greet her with a kiss.

 

“Thankyou. You do too.” She answers  

 

“I don’t know about you guys but I am absolutely bloody starving.” Hux beams. His eyes look bright and he’s had a film day of pampering. But still smells like that delicious lime and crushed bay and bergamot cologne of his. So sweetly fragrant it’s almost like perfume.

 

She pats Ben’s arm and steps back. Ben slings his arm across the back of his boyfriends waist. Smooches his lips quickly. She falls in step beside the pair. Likes seeing their loving little touches towards each other.

 

“I could eat.” Ben shrugs offhandedly.

 

Hux raised a brow at him. “You can always eat. Day and night.” He smiles at his partner. “The only man I know who still snacks at midnight.”

 

“Maybe I’m very greedy.” Ben flirts. Eyes going all stormy-dark. Waggles his brows.

 

“I’m the same with butter pecan ice cream. I can’t judge.” Evie smiles as they head down the steps to the walled groves. Weaving through the trees.

 

“Dinner last night was truly fantastic.” Hux says to Evie. After slinging his arm around Ben’s waist and smacking a kiss to his cheek. She had to admit, she was a good cook but every bite of that Italian chicken tray bake was sinfully good. Wine and garlic tomato sauce sweet and bursting rich with basil. Drizzled over the succulent boned chicken. It was to die for. With olives and onions and peppers. A Michelin spin on a homely dish. Served in great spooned heaps. She loves food like that.

 

“We met the chef a couple of days ago. Marco. I agree. He’s amazing. As much as last night was good I hasten to day the wedding meal will be utterly spectacular. And do you know, he studied under Alain Passard at L’Arpège as a Chef de Partie for three years.” She says. She learnt as much from talking to Marco the other day when she got tipsy during the tasting menu.

 

“Mmm. Ritzy.” Ben smiles. “I love L’Arpège.” He adds. Because of course he’s dined in one of the most prestigious French restaurants in the world. “When I worked in London after college the senior partners took the office interns out there and to stay at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée.” Ben explains.

 

“I will omit the rest of my experience as it ended with four bottles of Dom and two French girls in my hotel room.”

 

“Naturally I wouldn’t expect any story of yours to end any differently, darling.” Hux jokes stiffly.

 

Ben sticks out his plump pink bottom lip and makes a pouting face. Nuzzles his chin on Hux’s suit shoulder. Makes big wet brown-doe puppy eyes. Both arms joined now around his partners slim waist as they walk along. Kissing the folds of chins under his boyfriends elegant neck. Whining to be forgiven.

 

“It was a long time ago...” He mutters all whiny. “You’re a much better fuc-“

 

Hux kisses his pouting lips purely to shut him up. Cheeks looking a little red. “You and your filthy mouth.” Hux mumbles lovingly. Pulling back to straighten his collar.

 

Ben nuzzles his earlobe and whispers something filthy presumably. Evie is thankfully too far ahead to hear it. Ultimately smiling at the fact they’re in their second honeymoon phase. Glad their brief separation didn’t make them stiff or cold towards each other. They didn’t gripe and cut at each other bitterly and it’s nice to see. Plenty of couples bark and snap words at one another when there’s unsaid pain between them yet to come bubbling up to the surface.

 

She comes to another door in the wall. The one leading to the olive groves. She steps through. Sees their excellently made table waiting them. Cream and beige accents tonight. Mint green velvet ribbon tied around the rolls of ivory antique French napkins. Striped Breton beige placemats anchored with gold cutlery. There’s more peonies on the table in vases tonight. Honey nectar cores. Petals all white and warm and lovely. Fresh like doves feathers or snowy linen bleaching in sunshine.

 

Gold candlesticks have flickering long candles melting dripping down. There’s an olive garland woven cleverly between the candles and glasses. Sat on a buttermilk cream runner striped and dropping off each end of the table in a strip of lolling linen. The chairs are fancier tonight. Louis French upholstered. Beige and grey. Like wash oak with white rattan covering the backs. Pretty and so old elegant. Evie couldn’t have picked better herself. There’s a calligraphy swirled menu set at each place setting. It’s so beautifully done.

 

She still can’t believe this is her wedding. Can’t believe this setting is for her rehearsal dinner.

 

The gramaphone is still on its end table. Stack of records waiting and raring to be played. The white wine is keeping cool in buckets. The red is sat inconspicuous in its green bottles on the table. By now Evie’s sure their party has sampled most of the wine on this vineyard. The whole scene is set.

 

Empty. Quiet as anything. As if left there by a ghostly attentive fleet of servants. Lights in the trees sway gentle overhead. Candles flutter. Dinner guests being awaited on by this eerily beautiful set table.

 

“Looks like we’re the first ones here.” Ben leers. Heading right for the wine. Sloshing the bottle out the silver bucket. Doing the honours. Pouring them all way too much each in their glasses.

 

“Here’s to...the lovely lovely bride.” Hux smiles after Ben gives them both a big glass to toast with. Stands with one hand shoved deep in his pocket.

 

“A thousand thanks for inviting us.” Hux clinks Evie’s glass.

 

“Right back at you both for coming. Seriously.” She smiles. Hux gives her a one armed hug.

 

“I’ve never been to a nicer wedding and you guys haven’t even gotten to the ceremony yet.” Ben’s redhead smiles.

 

“It is a pretty great place.” Ben says looking up at the trees overhead.

 

“Mm. How was your spa day?” Evie asks Hux after taking a sip of her wine.

 

“Pure heaven.” He smiles. Moaning.

 

“I have no idea what Flo has planned for the bachelorette party. But I’m sorry to say I think the spa is heavily involved on the wedding day. Seeings as we’re marrying at sunset.” Evie mentions with a smile.

 

“Sounds completely awful.” He grins. “Consider me there, darling.” He was her bridesmaid after all. He kisses her temple and they all sit down at the table. Ben makes one of his eyebrow-waggling remarks about Hux being a bridesmaid - again. Asked what colour his dress is.

 

Arthur joins them before long. Showered and scrubbed and suited up in his beige flannel suit. White shirt and cream tie. Evie stands up and greets him. “Arthur..” she says. “You look dashing as hell.” He smiles. Ears going red as he fusses with his suit buttons.

 

“I don’t just dress up for any old gal, now you know.” He forewarned her.

 

“I’m flattered to hear it.” She answers. “Drink?”

 

“Actually-“ He starts. “Your man hogged you all last night and I quite wanted a dance with my favourite grandchild. If I may be so bold...” He smiles. Holds out his hand. She smiles and takes it. They’re moving to the dance floor and he put’s a record on. Some 60’s Edith Piaf song - crooning on about bringing him back - dances to life. Droning throatily through the olive tree air.

 

Arthur takes Evie’s hand and launches her into a slow spin. She’s laughing and trying to keep in step with his lead.

 

“Would you believe when I married my wife, she refused to let me lead in our wedding song?”

 

Evie laughs.

 

“I can honestly believe the sound of that.” Hux comments drily from across at the table. Ben laughs.

 

Arthur chuckles. Twirling Evie under his arm. Her blue skirts spin and flutter. She spins on the ball of her heeled foot. Swirls into the dusty ground.

 

“What was your wedding song, Arthur?” Ben asks curiously. Fondling his wine glass. Spinning it round.

 

“The beach boys. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice.’” He tells.

 

Ben beams. “Ah, a classic.” He smiles.

 

“For my sins. Was all the rage back then.” He adds. Leading Evie around the floor.

 

“You are such a graceful dancer. You’ve been holding out on me.” Evie confesses to Arthur.

 

“Please. If people know you can dance. There’ll never be a christening or a wedding or an anniversary bash where I get left alone.” He says. “My cunning plan. Let me keep my secret.” He says with a wink.

 

Evie smiles. Clasps his shoulder. “But of course. You are the most terrible dancer I’ve ever seen. In fact you are awful.” She pleases.

 

“Bless ya.” He beams. Before twirling her again. When she spins around a blur of grey and pink enters her vision. When she slows down her eyes focus enough to see Kylo and Flo coming closer onto the makeshift dance floor. Flo’s arm tucked in his. Whiskey hour having finished.

 

“Starting the dancing early honey?” Flo says to her husband. Arthur crosses and gives her a kiss on the cheek in greeting. She starts fussing at his tie. Kylo’s stepping over to his fiancée.

 

Kylo’s staring at his bride to be. He’s staring and he knows he is but he can’t help it.

 

Firstly, she’s got her hair up. That divine little neck is naked and bare except for some fat diamond earrings dripping down from in her lobes, and a few loose wisps of hair teasing gently at the back of her neck.

 

Secondly, she’s in a strapless short little silk dress. The cups of it clasp gently over her tits. Those perfectly arched arms and those collarbones dripping slices of gold light off her soft pretty skin, and that _neck_ all standing out.

 

Her thighs and hips kiss the fluted shape of the blue dress as she steps forwards. In her bare legs and her heels. He had to grit his jaw and swallow. It’s an awfully small barrier between her being naked and clothed. Just two scraps of underwear and some silk.

 

_God, look at you baby._

 

“Hello love.” She smiles. Grasping his hands and kissing his cheek.

 

He clutched her hands back and tries not to salivate - or growl when her perfume slips up his nose to tantalise him. Makes his spine wrack with clawing needles of need. He swore to god he’s rock hard from just seeing her looking like this.

 

And the fact this is the last time before he marries her doesn’t help.

 

It’s a great surge of love and lust that flushes into his bloodstream right then. He wraps a big hand up her half bare back. Half on the dress. Half on her skin. Cupping her scapulae underhand. Rubbing a teasing finger along its bony ridge where she holds him.

 

“You look handsome.” She beams all sweet. Admiring his suit. Little does she know but that sweet smile is making every dirty wish come out to prey in his head. His eyes are flinty and promiscuous right say the least. Walnut dark and brightened with something salacious. She intimately knows that _look_.

 

“ _Do not_ ask me if I like that dress.” He warns all grouchy and growly and low. With a smile tipping up one side of his mouth.

 

“Oh?” She asks. Briefly puzzled. “Is that bad...? I thought it was quite pretty.”

 

His eyes linger on her chest as she breathes out. How her ribs swell and dip.

 

“Kitten you look...” His eyes drag up and down her body. Raking paths of fire where his honey-black irises land. His hand on her back brings her right close. Crushing her to his chest.

 

“Mmm. You look fucking _edible_.” He growls low in her ear.

 

“I see.” She smiles coyly.

 

His voice is so low it sinks to the very deep of her bones and kicks the fluttering butterfly’s in her stomach into life. Shivering breath quaking hot at her ear. Prickling her skin with pinpricks of white hot. He was going to sit there, half-hard, all through this damn rehearsal dinner now. Goosebumps take over every inch of her skin.

 

She blushes. He pulls her so close she can feel her nipples rasp the silk of her bra. Brushing and catching against his rough flecked wool suit. He swallows. Cups her neck and kisses her sweet. Even though he’s dying - he’s fucking weak and dying - to give her the filthiest kiss. Sucking her tongue. Counting her teeth. Nibbling her bottom lip and shoving his spit into her mouth.

 

He settles for a soft press of the lips that makes him frown - it’s just not enough of her. He needs more.

 

He tastes like whiskey and his lips are cool and ice-kissed numb. Spicy and sweet and all things nice. That’s what he tastes like.

 

“Come on, and have a drink...” Evie takes his hand. Leads them to their chairs. Watching that dress move on her doesn’t make his stiff plight any the easier.

 

They sit down and everyone’s pouring wine and chatting about their day. He’s grateful to be able to put a napkin in his lap. His hand sears heat on her knee. Sneaking under the hem of her skirt to feel at her kneecap.

 

“By the way. I have some news...” He starts. Waits for her to take a sip of wine before he tells her about Flo’s plans to keep them separate for the bachelor parties and right up until the ‘I-do’s.’ He also tells her about the love-letter idea. She loves that too.

 

To her credit - bless her sweet kind heart. She seems to accept it with no hint of protest. They quickly lose the topic of it during the first course. A small little mound of wound up spaghetti served with anchovy sauce and walnut pesto, with flakes of fried scabbardfish.

 

After that comes the more intricate fish course. Pan fried cod with snow peas, broad bean purée and delicate tendrils of pea shoots for sweetness. Shredded ham hock layered on top of the cod for contrast.

 

The main too is gorgeous. Kylo loves two meats; meatloaf and rack of pork. Evie slyly requested the latter for him for this dinner. They’re each served a small meaty rack of roast suckling pig, with golden cooked potatoes, dried apricots, and a foamy garlic joux sauce. He kisses Evie with a growl and a Thankyou for organising the dish after they’ve eaten it.

 

The pudding arrives and the wine keeps on coming too - Bunet. A Piedmontese dessert. Like a creme caramel. But this naughty version has rum, amaretti, and bitter bitter deeply dark cocoa. It’s a soft small cake of plain pudding but full of exquisite flavour. Served with crumbled amaretto biscuits and a drizzle of some sticky honey almond sauce. Evie learnt from Marco that it’s a ‘ _Dolci al cucchiaio'_ \- a dessert that you can eat with a spoon.

 

Marco comes out near the desserts and coffee to check how everything was. Evie feels bad that it was a treck for his waiting staff to come out here to serve them. But they did it. And were so professional about it. Topping up wine and water glasses. The chef puts his hand over his heart and says it’s an honour to cook such a nice wedding meal for a lovely couple. Evie hugs him. Thanking him in her terrible Italian. Marco stays for a quick glass of wine before he has to get back to finish service for tonight. A couple of outside guests were dining at the vineyard restaurant.

 

The Brandy’s just come out. And Ben and Flo are dancing - again. Arthur and Hux are having a game of cards in the cleared space at the end of the table.

 

Kylo’s hand squeezes tighter on her knee. He’s barely had his hand out her lap all night. He kisses over her ear and whispers; “Follow me, Kitten. Now.”

 

He stands up and chucks his napkin to the table. Darting around his seat. Grabs her hand. Yanks her along with him. Choosing a moment when everyone’s backs are turned or otherwise occupied.

 

They melt quickly into the bleeding blue darkness of the olive groves. Swallowed up into the might as if they’re crafted out of it. Her dress almost shimmers silver in the moonlight. Swaying around her knees as he tugs her along. Whatever French record Ben has on is fading into the trees the deeper they go.

 

 

Olive branches and foliage rustles and snaps under their shoes. Kylo strides very fast ahead of her. She’s picking her way over the ground in her spindly heels. Crickets chirping to the moon and Juliette Gréco drifts and weaves around throughout the twining trees on the hot olive and bay spiced air. Dry leaves on the grove trees sway and clash in the canopy above. Rustling. Moving.

 

He eventually brings them to a heavy thicket of the trees. Where trunks are broad and dense. Trunks about as broad as him. She stops when he takes her hips in hand and presses her right up against one of the olive trees. Warped bark pressing cold into her back. Sweat pearls on his brow. He looks intently serious and his eyes are eclipsed with dark secret things. Wants. _Needs_.

 

He’s panting with it. Crushes his mouth into her neck and growls a kiss in there to hum at her skin. Too much lips. Too much stinging teeth. This is the kiss of hungrily desperate man. He suck feral red bite marks on her neck.

 

“Seeings as I’m banished from your bed tonight and until we’re married. Baby. I’m gonna have to fill your pussy up right fucking now.” He explains.

 

His hand wanders up her thighs, finds her panties. Shoves the innocent annoying lace aside and plunges two fingers into the sweet heart of her. Pounds her cunt with his hand.

 

“Give you something to think about until you’re my wife.”

 

He presses his hips and his leaking hard-on into her. Rubbing at his suit trousers. Catching on her cleft through her dress. She clutched at his shoulders. Mouth gasping steamed heat onto his neck. Slipping under his velvet collar. Her gasp twisting through the strands of his inky hair.

 

Her thighs shiver around his thrusting hand. He doesn’t do slow tonight. He rams her g-spot hard and fast. Sloppy wet squelches over his fingers and he carries on biting her neck.

 

“I wanna make you cream like this Kitten. My mouth on your neck and my fingers stuffed in your little wet pussy.” He growls.

 

Heat blushes down her neck. Down her tits. Blares loud and pink at her cheeks too. She tangles her fingers in his hair. Burning up in the scrap of silk that was her dress.

 

“...But we haven’t got long before they notice we’ve snuck away.” He insists. He presses into her fully with his body. Planting his feet a tad wider.

 

“Get my cock out baby. Get it out and get it nice and hard. Stroke me and make me ready to fuck you.” He orders gruffly.

 

One of her hands slithers between their writhing hot bodies and fumbles for his belt and his fly. It jangles and clinks and he breathes deeply when her hand closes around his cock. She wouldn’t have much to do - he’s solid as rock. Velvet skin over hot steel. Her mouth gapes when she finds how slippery wet he is. He’s been leaking for a while.

 

“Kylo.” She sighs. “ _Oh_ , you’re so-“ She moans. Whispers. So their voices don’t carry.

 

“Been fighting off a fucking hard-on since I saw you in that damn dress. Your hair up. Diamonds in your ears. _Fuck_ me baby. You know what putting your hair up like that _does_ to me.” He thrusts his hips into her fist harder to make a point.

 

There’s something so clandestine about this. Something positively Shakespearean. Like Romeo and Juliet. Two lovers sneaking away to join in pleasure under the moonlight out in nature, in a grove, against a twisted gnarled olive tree. Hushed kisses off hot lips and frenzied fucking where no one could stumble across their amour.

 

“I hope no ones doing tours through here this time of night.” She worries in a low mumble.

 

“I fucking doubt it.” He sucks her collarbone. “Besides I. _Oh fuck_ baby just like that- I. I bought out the entire estate when we came here for this.”

 

Now she knows why a hotel this good has been so quiet with so few guests.

 

“For _this?_ ” Evie asks with humour. Gripping his cock and slowly tugging upwards. Silky skin rubbing up over his cock head.

 

He chuckles around the mouthful of her neck. Licks hot trailed paths down between her breasts. Nudges her bodice down with his nose like some scruffy pawing terrier dog.

 

“No. Not _exclusively_ for this. But fuck me. It’s a damn benefit. Fucking my wife-to-be out here in the open under moonlight. This vineyard is all ours tonight.” He moans.

 

Tugging her dress down right over her tits so they sprang into the waiting trap of his mouth. He laps at her nipples. Hums moans onto them. These gorgeous sweet nipples had hardened into lustful tight coral knots in the cooler air of the shadows. They pucker into his mouth and he bites and sucks and rolls the tip of his tongue over their hardened points. Tasting sweat and clean citrusy shower gel off her skin.

 

She sags her head back onto the tree. Hair catching on the rough bark. Kylo looks up. Sucking still. Watching how the diamonds drop and slither refracts of light all over her shoulders like white pure little rainbows. Her mouth parts and her cheeks are so so red. He swirls his tongue one last time around a nipple. Before he rips his fingers out of her. Leaves her tits cold and aching for more touch and drops to his knees.

 

She sighs low as he drapes one leg over his shoulder and takes his fingers out of her to taste them. Keeps her eyes on his as he sucks the shimmering sweet taste of her off. She bites her lip at the sight. Belly knotting up in lust and want.

 

He puts his face between her legs. Hand curling over her thigh. Widening her open. The other holding her dress up to her gorgeous tummy. Nose nuzzles into the cradle of her soft cleft. The sweet peach like shape of her. _And twice as sweet he swore to god._ He teases with big fat licks right down her pussy lips. So soft and always so delicious in his mouth.

 

He smiles. “How are you already so creamy-wet for me Kitten? I could slurp you up right here and I haven’t even made you cum yet.” He says.

 

Teasing her pussy entrance with his tongue. She was dripping off his fucking chin already. He’s proud to suck every drop away. He shoves his tongue up into her and her knees tremble and a loud, loud, yelp leaves her lips.

 

“Sorry baby. Forgot how big my tongue is when it’s buried right up in you.” He says all smug. Not sorry at all as he flickers light licks at her, from clit right on down the whole of her cunt. Stops just shy of her ass.

 

“I love this pussy.” He mumbles into her thighs. Brings his fingers up again to feel it. Rests his forehead on her cleft and watches where his fingers shine as they sink in. Coming out all creamy-satin wet and tasting of her.

 

“I love this pussy so so much Kitten. 90% of my day and all I can think about is you or this cunt. Or your neck. Or your ass. Or your smile....” He breathes into her body. Closing his eyes and listens to how she slurps and slaps over his plunging hand. Nose rubbing on her pressing in her skin. He kisses all up her abdomen and around her cleft.

 

He suckles her clit. Thrusts his fingers and twists against that soft quaking spot inside.

 

“I need this pussy stretched on my cock. Kitten. I need to be in you, _now_.” He decides quickly. Mouthing at her.

 

All low and dangerous. Salivates onto her cleft. She sees the pearly string of it leave his mouth as he pulls away. Quite literally drooling for her.

 

He lets her leg off his shoulder. She wraps her arms about his strong neck. Fingers wrapping into his long hair as he lifts her right up. Right into his arms. Thighs locked tight around his waist.

 

She squeaks into his mouth at the sudden nature of it. His tongue curls at hers teasingly. He kisses her all starvation and savage. Let’s her taste herself on his lips. Grips her neck and smooches her deep until he’s satisfied she’s licked and tasted enough of her own sweet pussy on him.

 

He gets his fat throbbing cock in hand and slicks the bulbous big head up against her pussy lips. She sighs and so does he as their eyes meet and he slowly plunges in.

 

His mouth drops wide and she can feel his thighs shiver to match hers. Trembling from it it’s so good. He thrusts up once and it’s every good nerve endings ragged with fire and white hot bliss. Cock sinking deeper deeper deeper. More and more.

 

“I love sinking so slow into you. _Oh_ I love it. Evie. Watching you slowly swallow up my cock like that.” He grunts. Bliss pressing behind his belly. He says it when she rides him too. He makes her do it inch by careful inch. Wants to savour the sight and the sounds. All of it. Drinks it in.

 

They’re locked and curled so tight around each other it’s almost impossible for him to thrust good. But he does. He grips her so soft thighs and bounces his hips to thrust into her. Almost on the tips of his feet in his new shiny shoes that are slipping on the dusty foliage ground as he fucks up into her.

 

Cock splitting her wide open. Raw nerves in her pussy are his for the taking, and he’s sure to pound every last one of them.

 

She’s shivering and shaking so much and he’s just going faster and faster with each sound that leaves her mouth. Hands dig into his hair. She’s not wearing lipstick and thank god- cause she has to bite the wool shoulder of his suit just to keep quiet.

 

He’s moaning too. He can’t help it. He tries smothering the noises into her neck. But that just makes him want to kiss her neck and altogether he moans louder from doing that - it’s a rotten cycle.

 

“Push back at me Kitten. Push those gorgeous hips on me.” He asks her. Muggy hot whisper against her spit wet neck. Raked all red with his crescent bite marks.

 

“You love this big hard cock slamming in that tight little cunt? Huh Kitten? _Mmm?”_ He asks. Sucking on her earlobe. Diamond and all into sucked into his mouth. Wetting it. Tasting her perfume off her pulse point behind her ear.

 

“You only ever have to ask me. And it’s all yours - _oh god_. Babe uh. It’s all yours. My wife wants my cock? She _gets_ my cock. Every. Fucking. Inch.” He snaps in a promise against her neck.

 

Thrusting faster and faster. He should’ve slipped his trousers to his knees cause the sheer amount of wetness that’s slopping and squirting out of her is probably gonna leave a stain dribbled right down his crotch and ruin his priceless suit trousers.

 

_He couldn’t care less-_

 

“Kitten, mmmhm, I’m gonna cum in you. I’m gonna cum. And you’re gonna cum right on my cock. Just like this...cum with that cunt twitching and sucking me right in.” He urges.

 

“Milking me of every fucking drop like you always do.” He sighs. Lips shivering against hers. Thighs quaking together.

 

“Fuck. I’m close. Gimme those tits. Feed them to me.” He grunts. Lowering his mouth to bite at her. She fists her hand tighter in his hair. Tears squeezing hot stinging salty out the corner of her eyes.

 

“You’re shivering so much baby.” He whines, deep and low, drooling into her hard nipples as he speaks.

 

Swallowing down. He presses his nose into her sternum with an ‘ _oh fuck_ ’ mumbled into her skin. He’s cupping her ass now. She’s cradling his dick so tight and he’s cupping her onto it and fucking up into her like she weighs nothing at all.

 

His thrusts get all too fast and vicious. Nails dig into her skin. Her teeth clamp down his shoulder again. He’s licking up her neck and whispering in her ear.

 

“Cum with me. Kitten cum for me. Please _fucking_ cum for me.” He begs.

 

“I am, _Oh_ kylo. God. Oh myyy gggod.” She warns. Hands rooted deep in him. Whatever part she could clutch. It’s hers. She seized it and grabs on.

 

Whining and desperate. She shifts her hips to meet him and clamps down hard when he thrusts and thrusts and strokes her g-spot. Long fat cock throbbing pulsing in her. Stretching her nice and wide open.

 

“I can feel your orgasm building...” He chuckles in disbelief. Cupping her closer so their bodies rub. “I can feel it.” He sobs.

 

He’s pouring love into her neck. Muggy words. Licking up beads of her sweat as he pulses and pumps deep inside her. Shooting his load so deep inside her crushing squeezing pink walls. Shuddering and gasping.

 

“Take it. Kitten. Take every drop of me.” He grunts hard. Bliss rocketing kernels of sheer desire at his bloodstream. Shooting from the tips of his toes to every last rooted follicle on his head. “Oh shhh- _oh_ ” he moans. And then he’s speaking into her neck.

 

“I can’t wait to marry you. Oh god. You’re gonna be mine. My wife. The next time I see you you’re gonna be walking down to aisle to me. Oh. Evie- God.” He pants. Then another thought springs into his head. He kisses her neck cause he can’t help it. They pant into each other.

 

“I’m gonna miss you.” She cries. Head thrown back to the tree. Cheeks glaring pink.

 

“Don’t get me started.” He growls.

 

“Not seeing you for the next two days is gonna fucking wind me the hell up. Not sleeping next to you in bed. Not waking up to you in the morning. Showering with you. Jesus- _fuck_.” He grumps into her ear in a whisper. Clasping her trembled into her body. Also cause she just squeezes that tiny little cunt to clamp down on him.

 

“ _God_. Kitten. You came so much. You’re fucking gushing out.” He sighs all proudly. Feeling her trickle down him. Creamy thick. Dribbling down his big cock. Right to his balls.

 

But he hadn’t escaped it either. She’s got the shivers out of him. His thighs wobble with it. Nerves shot to pieces. He sets her legs down. Heels touch to the floor. Shifting in the earth. Her thighs still quivering and raked with nail marks. She’ll need a minute before she can walk.

 

Slips out of her and feels the rush of them follow. He admires the creamy mess he made out of her before he then quickly tugs her panties back across and let’s his cum spill into them. She groans.

 

Rubs her pussy lips and her clit through the lace. She squirms and looks up into those devious dark eyes. Thighs accidentally clamp his hand where it is.

 

“You keep every drop of that safe for me.” He smirks. Kisses her neck again. Rubs harder over her pussy. Feeling wet warmth start to seep through the lace to his fingertips.

 

“Think about this moment for me Kitten whilst we’re apart. I know I will be.” He smirks. Then he kisses her. Sweeter.

 

“And know that next time I fuck you, and cum deep in you, you’ll be my _wife_. Mrs Ren.” He smooches her lips real nice. Real slow. Teeth nip her lip.

 

She gasps, cheeks pink and utterly scandalised, but smiling and cups his face to kiss him some more.

 

_Scandalous man._

 

_  
_And one she absolutely can’t wait to marry-

_~_

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’d that do? 💕


	59. Bachelorettes & Brides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So; we’ll be doing these nuptials in two parts. Otherwise I will drown you in words (ok even more words) 💕

  
  


 

The bed felt so big sleeping in it without him.

 

Evie folds the whisper grey cotton sheets over herself, and lies back in the big big soft bed to look at the garden through the open-spill of the terrace doors. Watches moonlight slither off the fussing swaying bay trees.

 

She sinks into the pillows and cuddles one of the big plump cotton thing in her arms.

 

Its scented of lemons and pressed linen. It doesn’t smell of Ormonde Jayne cologne. Nor is it scrawled in multi-million artworks of black ink tattoo’s. It’s not the _same_. The absence of that big broad body next to her in bed. Arms always reaching for her. The hint of the oil he rubs through his hair - gardenia and violet and spring - it’s scent not next to her own pillow. It’s mad and she’s torn up from not falling asleep next to him.

 

She consoles herself thinking that they’ve got the rest of their lives sharing the same bed. Waking up, hot sticky limbs all jumbled and tangled as one.

 

Beaming a meagre smile with that comfort, she falls gently away to sleep. Wakes up to a bright pool of sunshine warming on her toes through the sheets. Peels her fuzzy eyes open and that pure tuscan golden sun blazes at her senses. Striping through the Venetian shutters.

 

She blinks bleary and sits up to see her bedside clock and checks the time with a sleepy yawn. Arms uncurling to stretch out her shoulders. All melting toffee-limbed and loose. Her big linen nightie shirt, Ivory fabric all crinkled and mussed from her deep delicious sleep.

 

Kylo did wear her out significantly before she came to bed last night after- secret trysts in vineyards and all.

 

She rubs her eyes and trudges to the bathroom. Nightshirt slipping off her shoulder. A gorgeous edifice of beige exposed brick and ivory trims. With green accents painted on the bath in curling flower patterns. There’s a two seater French gilded settee across from the bath for heavens sake. Luxury at luxury’s best. Big soft beige gold curtains softened like big crushing waterfalls either side of the sheer covered windows which made the sunshine flood in foggy. The creamy flagstone floors are warm already on her cold feet as she pads for the sink. Seeing her sleep rumpled reflection in the gigantic silver rounded mirror.

 

Because of course Kylo saw to it his bride has the best suite to get ready in for her wedding day.

 

Even scrubbing her teeth at the sink alone now seemed like a very empty task.

 

She kept wanting to see that big marble tattoo-and-scar-carved chest lumber into the reflection behind her in the mirror. Big shaggy head of thick black hair swaying over her shoulder as he juts his chin there and nuzzles his lips and nose into the crook of her warm silken neck. Does it to make her shiver and smile.

 

She goes back to the bedroom and pulls on her hotel robe. Pulls the sheets up and neatly folds and makes her bed and heads off to find Flo. Through the dining room and the sitting room and out onto the terrace.

 

Where apparently breakfast was in order-

 

Flo was already dressed up all in her best. Stood up at the lime washed table on the terrace. Set for three. A round table with big wrought iron chairs wedged with white cushions. Situated under a weathered old italian oak tree that gnarled and twisted it’s long spreading branches and leafy shade over the side of the terrace. Arched over the table as if trying to curl under and scoop it on up.

 

“Morning sugar.” Gets called across to her. With a sweet beam. Evie walks closer to the sunny terrace to her adoptive grandma. Who hands her over a cup of tea over the first class breakfast spread out under the dappling sunshine of the tree dancing in yellow spots on the seamless white linen.

 

The smell of strong strong roasted coffee hits her first. But that’s just the start of it. There’s Italian cloud eggs cooked with sausage. Spinach and tomato breakfast torte. Toast beneath smoked salmon layered over with creamy scrambled eggs and studded with chopped chives. There’s a groaning fruit platter. Freshly squeezed juice. Coffee. Tea. Warm croissants and Sfogliatelle. Served with apricot jam and salted butter.

 

“Just us?” She asks as she sits next to Flo and throws a linen napkin in her lap.

 

Leans back in the chair. Helps herself to tea and a whole heap of Italian breakfast excellence. Flo holds up a finger with a smile whilst pouring herself coffee when the terrace door goes. She takes a sip. “ _My_ god, that’s good coffee.” She comments. Evie looks across the patio and smiles as a flash of brilliant copper catches her eye. Blazing in the sun.

 

Hux walks over to join them at their breakfast table. Looking sombrely relaxed in jeans and a sapphire blue button down. His lean body shape willowy and tall. Handsome in a completely different sense to Kylo’s and Ben’s wide broad frame.

 

“Morning all.” He smiles to the ladies. Stooping to give Flo a kiss, she greets him with a “Morning honey.”

 

Evie stands and gives him a half hug and a kiss on the cheek too. He then eases himself into a seat and starts on his breakfast too. “I’m ready for my first official day as a bridesmaid. Never been asked to be one before.” He jokes as Evie hands him over the croissants and the jam.

 

Flo sits down with a pure filthy grin on her face. As cunning as if she was chairing a very important meeting. “Well. You both better eat up kids. We have _quite_ the day booked.” She explains. Pulling out a thick sheet of hotel insignia paper. And her bright pink reading glasses.

 

“Oh good god. She has a list...” Evie comments worriedly under her breath. Flo peers at her through her glasses like a stern teacher.

 

“What activities have you scheduled for today?” Hux asks. Putting a tiny splash of cream and a dash of brown sugar in his coffee.

 

Flo chuckles. The poor man isn’t appraised yet how that sound often heralded in approaching doom.

 

“First up; something good and dirty.” Flo winks.

 

“If you mean you’ve got male strippers in g-strings wrestling in mud, I’m _not_ going. I’ve told you.” Evie warns seriously. Spooning chunks of melon and mango onto her plate.

 

“I mean I wouldn’t mind...” Hux winks at Flo. “But it isn’t my bachelorette party.” He says. Sipping on his coffee. Steam off it wispy in the sunshine. Kissing across his pale shaved cheeks.

 

Evie’s cheeks heat. “I’d rather have an honest good fun day with my friends than seeing some tawdry tacky strip show.”

 

“Will you wear a trashy plastic tiara and a bachelorette button?” Flo narrows her eyes.

 

“Under extreme duress.” Evie counters. Flo rubs her hands together. Far too pleased.

 

“That’s settles it then. Eat up, eat up. The car will be here in an hour.” She rushes all excitedly.

 

Evie eats up as told and rushes for a quick shower. Hauling on some clothes. An olive-moss green silk dress with a wide scoop neck and a tie around the waist which she ties to gently emphasise her waist.

 

She slips on her flat black tie sandals that Kylo bought for her for their Italian holiday adventure. She’d insisted she had shoes for hot weather. Before she could even show him her numerous pairs of dollar store squidgy foam flip flops. A dozen Prada shoe boxes were suddenly waiting for her at home one night after work. His unique expensive way of taking care of her.

 

She slips sunglasses on her head. Hair looped back in a low braided bun at the nape of her neck. Unruly wisps tucked back behind her ears. She rejoins her maid of honour and her bridesmaid who are waiting on her. Flo crowns her with the tiara and they set off into the unknown unsafe wilderness of Flo Berstein’s secret plans.

 

She had three bottles of pink sparkling rosé chilling in the car for them so they can all get a little tipsy en-route. Evie swears she might have to go tee-total after this wedding. By now her bloodstream must be more alcohol than anything else. She has half a glass. Wanting to be fully sensate for whatever afternoon Flo is offering them.

 

They’re only in the car for just under an hour. And Evie feels her heart fuzzy warm - like it’s a blanket freshly pulled from the tumble dryer. All melting and sappy watching her new friend and her Grandma cackling gossip and getting drunk. Very glad to have them here. Very lucky to be in the company of good friends.

 

“I wonder what them boys are up too...” Flo pipes up after they cackle themselves laughing into tears.

 

“I leaned on my dear partner for information on that front.” Hux says proudly. Spilling more frothy pink wine into Flo’s glass. And Evie’s. Even though she insisted she didn’t want any. He gives her a sharp smile and a look as he pours. Waves her off with a ‘ _Nonsense, love. It’s your day for drunken antics.’_

“Ben told me even though he’s still winding up Kylo under the guise of taking him to a strip club. He’s actually booked them all on a wine tasting tour on the Antinori Chianti Classico estate, just outside Florence. Steak dinner and cigars afterwards on the roof terrace restaurant.” He smiles.

 

Evie laughs at the thought of Kylo being prodded and wound up by Ben. Moody and grouchy like the grizzly bear he is until he see’s what Ben actually has in store. When his lies pay off to be no more than teases.

 

Mind - she’s in much the same predicament when the car finally turns down along gravel track, lined with cypress trees. They come to an old barn like hotel. She can’t quite believe her eyes. She thought Tuscany had worn her out on all its beauty, but she’s proven wrong.

 

Flo grins as they’re led through a very flat open garden. Beige shingle path. Lined with triangular trees in lime-washed wood barrel pots. Led right up to a flat roofed villa. Tiles on the roof the colour of rust and apricots. The walls a bare gold exposed flagstone brick. They step through a massive arched door and into the cool exterior of hotel reception.

 

Inside the old place, is old Tuscan country elegance. Exposed wood beams. Light ivory accents in the sofas with worn old embroidered cushions. Sketched landscape wallpaper plastered to one wall in tones of cream and coffee-bronze sepia. Bone white warm tile floors and walls splashed with bleach white paint, light happy music sparkling through the place.

 

Flo takes the lead at the desk. Introduces that the Winslow Bridal party have arrived. A warm friendly-faced young woman directs them to armchairs to wait. Then their tour guide comes through. Introduces himself as Gianni. He takes them out to a olive tree shaded terrace. Where there’s a group of excited spaniels. He hands them each a trowel spade. And a dog on a lead. And then hands them all a pair of hunter green rubber rain-boots.

 

Evie’s face is a picture. Flo can’t stop laughing at her confusion - It’s then she remembers reading about what this region of rural Italy is famous for producing locally. What grows here;

 

Truffles.

 

She thinks there’s some mild genius about wild mushroom foraging for her bachelorette party. Most girls went for clubs or bar hopping or bottomless booze brunches. She’s glad she’s a horse of a different colour.

 

Here she is. Galoshes on, stomping around in the dirt in the sunny tuscan countryside. Their guide leads them to a bright rich green wood just down the hill on the estate. Ancient Italian oaks spread out boundless and covering them. Their guide tell’s them all about the estate and the best spots for hunting out the elusive truffles.

 

They dig and forage and have a wonderful time indulging in exploring and collecting tasty wild-grown delights of the Italian countryside. They laugh and joke around together and she can’t think of any better planned day than this. When they head back up the path to the hotel again. Gianni insists that he’ll see to it the kitchens get the truffles and Flo cackles that Evie is in for another surprise.

 

It turns out that the truffles they collect will be washed and prepared by the chefs in their four course lunch. A specially laid table in their honour in the small cosy homey restaurant. Right by the open terrace doors perched their little wood table laid for three. A warm afternoon gushes in.

 

She recognised Kylo’s or Flo’s touch with the way white peonies are set in vases on the table. And some white candles in fluted hurricane vases. Very pretty. Very soft white. _Bridal_.

 

They just ease into their seats and already a pressed, black tie clad waiter is setting down a very expensive bottle of champagne on the table. And three tall flutes.

 

“Sent with compliments from your husband, Mrs. Ren. Our best bottle of 1086 Nyetimber sparkling rosé.” The waiter smiles.

 

Showing her the rich scarlet label shot through with a glint of silver. It looks expensive. And after it’s poured into each of their glasses, when she sips it. Turkish roses and peaches and golden nectar tang rolling and spiking over her tongue. She can taste it’s an expensive kind after one mere drop.

 

They have a wonderful meal with the carefully harvested truffles. To start their Primi; a celeriac, hazelnut and truffle soup. Creamy thick drizzled with yet more white truffle oil and served with chunks of bread. A small piled heap of linguine vongole is next - a garlic white wine and chilli sauce with clams dotted throughout. The restaurant was proudly serving local foods from sustainable sources.

 

Next is the truffle pièce de résistance of a four cheese, spinach and truffle lasagna. They all hungrily hoover up the food and drink to toast their success as truffle hunters. Which becomes a fun word to try and say when they’re all tipsy on drink.

 

After the sparkling champagne there was wine - quite a few bottles of it. Flo was the worst. She was the goading influence. ‘ _Just one more sip. No! That’s plenty.’_ And she carries on pouring.

 

“I think we’d better order our dessert before my eyes stop working!” Hux leans over and slyly says to Evie. He nods over to Flo who is texting Arthur drunk selfies and the view from their terrace.

 

“Is she even slightly drunk?” He asks in amazement. Mouth muggy hot near her ear. She can smell the fruity sharp wine on his breath. She doesn’t mind. Hers must be the same.

 

“I think she must have iron clockwork for organs.” Evie confesses honestly. Cause her and Hux are definitely not very sober. And Flo’s there like she’s barely sunk a glass. Or even so much as had a _sip_.

 

“Years of practice I suppose - in no detriment to her.” Hux says.

 

“ _Oh_ , no! She would absolutely take it as a compliment that she can drink us young folk under the table. Trust me.” Evie says.

 

“You’re darn right, Winslow. Another?”

 

“Nothing wrong with her hearing either.” Hux adds.

 

Flo grins evilly. Holding up another half empty wine bottle. Evie backs out. Atleast until more food is soaking up all the roiling alcohol in her truffle stuffed stomach. She needs to eat some bread or cotton wool. Something nice and absorbent- couch stuffing perhaps?

 

“Tidge.” She barks at Hux. He submissively slowly offers across his glass. Sloshing more white wine in his glass. He almost looks afraid by now.

 

They put in the order for their dessert rather quickly - it was a necessity. Evie and Flo share a platter of champagne poached pears, with bitter chocolate and plum liquor sauce and scattered with candied walnuts.

 

Hux goes for the cheeseboard. A great big slate slab of it. Almnäs Tegel. Shropshire blue. A fruity Innana. And a Dorstone goats cheese. All served with fresh plump figs, cherries, orange segments, slices of apples and pears and bunches of red and green grapes. More fruit than cheese. Evie nibbled a poppy seed oat cracker and some Shropshire blue and some of the fruit.

 

She then opts for a pot of earl grey tea to help sober herself up a bit. Hux does the same with an espresso. The scent of it makes her stomach pang in wanting for her fiancée.

 

She misses his smile. The way the corner of his lips twitch up when he thinks she does something cute. She’s longing for those big tatted paws he had for hands - to feel them slide and rasp up her back. Or touch her knee under the table.

 

Despite much protest. Flo picks up the cheque. Evie and Hux fight to insist otherwise but they see Flo use Kylo’s card. She arched a clever brow. “He told me to cover it sweetie. I’m simply following orders.” She says. Evie makes a face. Hux does too. States he _will_ buy whatever is next. The least he can do. Kylo’s fronting the bill for all his guests.

 

“One more stop, babies.” Flo says.

 

As she links arms with both of them as they shuffle drunkenly out the restaurant. By now Evie’s plastic tiara is wonky - and resting on Flo’s pink haired head. Hux’s shirt is rumpled and Evie’s pretty she spilt a dribble of soup on her skirt. 

 

Hux is also carrying a case of 2018 Provence rosé under one arm - for later, he’d said. With a sparkle in his eyes.

 

They pile into the car and are just merrily gossiping and drifting along. Sleepy dozy after good. Full up of wine and truffles and cheese. When the car brings them to one last stop. And it turns out to be a tiny town in the middle of the nowhere tuscan countryside. Flo pauses with her hand on the door.

 

“I hope you kids ain’t full just yet.” She winks. Clambering her elderly little body out the low sleek Tesla car.

 

“If she takes us to a bar - I’m running away under protest of my liver’s welfare.” He says to Evie.

 

She nods. Scared. “I’ll be right behind you.” She promises.

 

“Haul ass! Move your bony butts!” Flos staccato voice carries back from outside the car.

 

“She should be in the military.” Hux jokes under his breath as they slide out across the seats.

 

Evie chuckles and they come to stand in a tiny town square. Flo is already way way ahead. Off across the grey cobbles. Pigeons scatter in her wake across the tiny rusted wall square with a trickling fountain in the middle, marble stained with moss from over the years.

 

Flo stops down a quiet little street and then Evie’s chuckling some more. There’s a big gelato ice cream parlour in front of them. A huge great place. Great big glass plate window in a painted green timber shop front. Italian name above the door and the air is all cool and sugary when they step inside.

 

Evie tried a butterscotch and honeycomb. Hux goes for cherry and orange. Flo picks out a rum and chocolate. They sit at a big round table and eat gelato and chocolate truffles until they feel like their bellies will burst if they so much as breathe too hard.

 

“This is an insanely good way to celebrate the remaining hours of singledom.” Hux says as he spears a fresh strawberry with his spoon and pops it on his tongue. He had strawberries and cream gelato now. Evie’s onto a minty chocolate chip. Flo has - astoundingly - another scoop of rum. With raisins this time however.

 

“Flo you better pray I can still fit in my wedding dress after all this. Or I’ll end up getting married in my hotel robe.” Evie jokes. Scooping the last few smears of ice cream out her tub. Wooden spoon scraping the paper.

 

“Start a new bridal couture trend.” Hux beams.

 

“I swear I’ve gained ten pounds on this holiday. All the wine and gelato and pasta.” Evie winces.

 

Hux nudges her with his elbow. “It isn’t about the weight. You’d be gorgeous at any size. More importantly above all that - just be happy.” Hux tells her cheeringly. “Even if your happy is a couple more inches on your waistline. My mother always used to say that to me.” He smiles.

 

“More of you to love, Winslow. You should get your husband to thank me for fattening you up. Now he’s got more to look forward to lovin on the wedding night.” Flo winks.

 

Evie balls up a clean napkin and throws it at her. “You are awful. And I love you. Maiden of _dis_ -honour.” She chides with a grin.

 

“Hence the tiara.” Flo points with her spoon to the wonky silver thing on her head.

 

“A title well deserved.” Hux points out with mirth.

 

Late afternoon copper sun swipes down the little town and down the plate glass. After a few more scoops of different flavours each - trying them all out. They purchase a big tub of silky chocolate pistachio - also for later, and head back to the car.

 

Evie narrowly avoids falling asleep on Hux’s shoulder on the way back. A morning of rambling in the sun drenched woods, a huge lunch. And a relentless general of a drinking buddy and maid of bad influence. No wonder she’s sleepy. And she has no more time for anymore bachelorette adventures today. She has to get back to the hotel; she’s got a love letter to write.

 

The bridal party tipsily stumbles out the car when they get back. Through the evening sunshine they all stagger back to their rooms. Evie toes her sandals off and collapses in a heap on her bed. Her hand hits something fragile and dainty on her pillow.

 

She frowns and sits up to see one singular white peony laying gently clasped on the pillow. She smiles and brings it to her nose. Smells it’s sweet scent. Knowing without a doubt who might have sent her that. Always thinking of her.

 

She dozed for a while. Listening to the trees sway in the trees. Scuttling paper of leaves skitter across the patio. She curls into her soft bed and sleeps for a while. She wakes up right as the grasping fingertips of sunset claw slanted at the sky. Bursting blur draining into copper-pink.

 

Evie sits up. All rumpled and warm from her bed. Sunset bleeds across her room carpet. She stretched and wanders out the terrace. Her bare feet pad the tiles and she has to laugh when she gets to the patio.

 

Her maid of dishonour is lying, snoring, drunk and asleep in one of the sun loungers. An almost empty bottle of wine crooked in her elbow. Tiara slipping wonkily down on her forehead. Evie smiles and gets the throw off the nearest patio chair, uncurls the grey rug and throws it around her. Tucks it over her. Her snores don’t even falter or change tone. She was well and truly out of it.

 

She stands and turns when she hears the terrace door go. Hux comes in. Gently shutting the door after himself. Grinning when he sees - and hears Flo. Evie’s more taken by what he’s holding in his arms. One bottle of rosé. And two pizza boxes. Her stomach growls for it. She insists he’s an angel.

 

They sit on the edge of the pool. Dangling their feet in. Eating hot slices of pizza. Burnt basilico leaves, tomato and big gooey blobs of melted cheese on a perfectly charred base. Slabs of Italian salami encrusted on the melted cheese - It’s exactly what her body demanded after her tipsy nap. They drink the rose wine out of mugs cause she couldn’t find any glasses.

 

They sit there together. Watching the sunset creep into darkness over the vineyard. Seeing how the hot breeze sways the trees. His trousers rolled right up to his pale lanky knees. Pouring more blush pink wine out for them. Swirling their calves around in the cool kiss of diamond blue water.

 

They sit there and drink and eat and talk until the stars come out.

 

Webs and bursts and scatters of them dripping light down from the navy blue sky. The honey light from the hotel rooms glow gold in the dark. Patio where they’re sat lit up with the gentle cast of outside lanterns. And somewhere on the estate soft latin music thrums out into the night. The soft tune of it skips over the hot air. As well as Flo’s heavy snores at periodic intervals too.

 

Hux likes astronomy. Always had. Stems from his young fascination about stars, rockets, astronauts - and wanting to be David Bowie. 

 

He cleverly points out all the clusters and famous arrangements of stars. Leaning back, braced on his hands as they stare up. Evie’s got her hands hooked on the lip of the pool. Ankles crossed in the water. Eyes turn skywards. Stars glimmering in her eyes.

 

“How’s the bride doing?” Hux seeks.

 

She shakes her head. Smiling in disbelief. “I can’t believe that I’m getting married tomorrow.” She says softly.

 

Hux frowns. “Cold feet? I can help. I am a fully licensed - although very drunk - therapist.” He offers sweetly. Laughing

 

She does too. “No. My feet are perfectly warm.” She insists calmly. Swirling her toes in the water.

 

“I guess I just can’t wait.” She smiles giddy. Hux has to smile at that.

 

“He’s a very lucky man. Darling.” He insists. Leaning over and throwing an arm over her shoulder and giving her a squeeze. She hugs him back. Blushing at the compliment. Tucks hair back behind her ear. She’s so thankful he’s here. So thankful for this new friendship.

 

They drink and finish off the last of the pizza til nothing but crumbs and crusts remain. And the wine is running towards half empty. They gather themselves and he parts with a goodnight kiss to her cheek and a hug. Heading back to his room. Evie gently nudges Flo awake and sees her safety to bed. She comes bolting to life with a startled snore.

 

She hugs her misbehaving grandma goodnight. And ready’s herself for bed. She can’t remember falling asleep.

 

When she wakes up - slowly a thought dawns. She’s watching the early morning sun kiss at the tips of the green bay trees out the terrace doors.

 

Gently, her thoughts wake up; It’s her _wedding day._

 

Such a giddy lightning bolt strikes right on through her stomach. She can’t stop her smile growing. She’s not long rubbing crusty sleep out her eyes when her bedroom door bursts open and in totters her sober maid of dishonour. Yelling at the top of her lungs.

 

“Happy wedding day, sweet pea.” And in her arms she holds two peach Bellini’s on a silver tray with a platter of chocolate drizzled strawberries.

 

Evie hugs her tight with a laugh. Flo plonks herself right on the bed with her. Still in her pyjamas. They eat the strawberries and drink the fruity sparkling cocktail.

 

“Now. The bridal party have all day spa appointments until 2. At which point it’s back here for hair and makeup and getting dressed for a few getting ready pictures. The flower bouquets are getting delivered at 3. Letters swap at 4. Then the ceremony at 5.” She excitedly nudges Evie.

 

Who if she smiles any wider is at risk of seriously damaging her cheeks. Looks like she slept with a hanger in her mouth. Flo tenderly cups her face.

 

“I can’t believe my little girl is getting married.” She coo’s. Smile so fond. Eyes all melting and warm.

 

Flo can remember this little 8 year old. Gap in her teeth where one had recently fallen out. Off searching for pixie or elf mushroom rings in the forest back home. Wearing rubber yellow rain boots and a wonky glittery pair of tinker bell wings. She can still see little Evie stood atop on a stool in the kitchen by Winnies side. Rose tinted in sun from the window. Helping her grandma make a Victoria sponge cake.

 

“Neither can I, really.” Evie insists. Twisting her glass nervously in her hands.

 

“You kids do deserve each other so much. They say opposites attract. And you guys are so right it’s nuts. It make’s me so happy to see you all crazy and loved up about him.” Flo grins.

 

Evie hopes that their ‘ _opposites attract’_ ideal doesn’t turn out to be a source of contention later on down the line.

 

“Any good advice you can give me now about marriage? Being a newlywed.” Evie asks with a beaming grin.

 

Flo thinks for a second. “Make sure to sometimes prioritise your partner. Invest some date nights and time. You’d be surprised what little power romantic things have. That will give you something to smile about when work sucks or when life gets crazy.” She insists.

 

“And try and remember it’s you guys as a team versus whatever the problem is. Not separate competition against it. There’s no winners and losers in marriage. And if there must be, win or lose together. Not at the expense of the other.” She says wisely.

 

“And have sex as often as you can. All over the damn place like rabbits. That sure as hell helps.” She adds tipping her glass towards her with a wink.

 

She laughs. She can’t not. “Thanks.” She says wryly. Here she was hoping for heartfelt words and instead she got the sage gem of ‘ _fuck often.’_

_“_ Hey. Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.” Flo leers. “After all, you got a honeymoon coming up. Mrs. Ren. That boy will be all over you like a rash I bet.” _  
_

Evie blushes a bit, before folding the covers off herself and going to open the terrace doors. It’s was breezy last nights. She’d shut them closed. Her linen top slips over the back of her thighs and she smiles at the wide open blue sky and almost too perfect sunshine lighting up the day.

 

All in all - it looked like a perfect day for a white wedding.

 

They have to ‘ _haul ass’_ as Flo puts it. Or they’ll be late for the spa. Evie rubs and scrubs her face, brushes her face and takes her bed hair. Slips on her robe and the ladies join up with Hux and head on to the hotel spa where they all receive every treatment known to man.

 

Massages. Facials. Hair and nails - Hux opts out of the pedicure and paint. But he does get a hand arm massage and a light manicure. They are pummelled and sea-weed-wrapped and rubbed down. Polished with body scrub. Layered in botanical floral oils. Lazing the day away in the meditative relaxing atmosphere. Tantric pan-pipe music lulls them into relaxing. Lounging in their robes and enjoying a bottomless sparkling wine lunch on the terrace in between their shiatsu massage and their super food hydrating facial.

 

The olive tree governs the patio here. And they lunch under it. Flo makes a toast to their last lunch with Evie as a single lady. They all lift their glasses to toast over their Italian charred vegetable and cold meat platter. Salami, olives, bread, olive oil. Plump sweet tomatoes. Milky mozzarella cheese. Salty Parma ham. Buttered asparagus and fried zucchini scattered with lemon zest. Getting pampered was hard work- they polish off lunch real quick.

 

The rest of the day flies by so quick. It’s impossible. Before she knows it. Evie is sat in her room, looking into the oval mirror at her dresser, wedding dress on. Makeup finished. Softly bringing out the beauty in her face. Blush gently kissing her cheeks. A light mink pink on her eyelids. Big dark lashes and softly arched brows. A tea-rose lipstick sits pink and elegant on her lips.

 

It all seemed so real now. No escaping it. She’s in her dress. This is happening. She wasn’t playing dress up as a girl anymore with a lace curtain as a veil. Her stomach is squirming more than ever. She’s taking deep breaths in and out through her mouth to calm herself down. Body knotting up in excitement.

 

Flo is helping slide the long branching silver hair ornament they bought into her styled hair. Artfully twined back from her face and wrapped in twisting braids and plaits low at her neck.

 

“How we doin?” Flo asks. Meeting her eyes in the mirror. Both hands fiddling the back of her braided hair.

 

Evie’s stomach flutters at the answer. Cheeks pinken lightly and it’s nothing to do with the blusher. “We’re good.” She grins.

 

“Jittery?” Flo beams wisely. Making sure her hair accessory was fixed in all the right places. It really did look beautiful. Growing and weaving throughout her hair.

 

“My hands are trembling so much.” Evie whispers giddily.

 

Where they are laid in her white lap she curls her fingers closed and watches how her extremities shiver. Feels the metal of the ring on her finger bite into the wrap of her hand. It soothes her. The tactile feel of the reassurance it brings.

 

“Stand up. Do a twirl, lets get a look at ya.” Flo encourages her. Soft hand slipping to her shoulder.

 

Evie grasps her wispy skirts. A soft tulle layered over the icy duchess satin-silk blend. It drifts lazily like white smoke behind her trailing skirts when she moves. Like gossamer moth wings on a clear window with the sun shining on through.

 

Evie moves to stand in front of Flo. Smoothing wrinkles out her dress by her thighs. Flo holds her hands, keeps her arms open and examines her.

 

Evie must admit she loves Flo’s dress too. It suited her so well. The flowy trumpet sleeves. Criss crossed and tied at her lithe waist. The baby blue teal silk gelled well with her rose pink rinse hair. Scooped back it’s usual fancy arrangement. They’d both had rollers in all morning. Hux joked that he needed a pair to fit in. Flo has a pretty light shawl to go on her arms. Blue embroidered shawl from home. Cream pashmina stitched with pink and red flowers and curling green vines. In case her arms got cold later.

 

Flo smiles that red lipstick Colgate grin. Looking Evie up and down. “Stunning.” She smiles. Moving a wisp of hair off her cheek. Tucks it behind her ear for her. The offending straying little curl.

 

“Oh _hh_.” Evie signs almost angrily. Tugs Flo into a solid hug. Tries to keep back the happy tears. “If I ruin my mascara I can blame it on this.” She insists. Hugging her grandma so tight.

 

When she pulls back. She almost crushes the bones in Flo’s hand. “You know how I couldn’t have done any of this. None of this. Without you. Without Arthur.” She sighs. Voice wobbling.

 

“You’ve got so much of your grandma’s spirit, Evelyn. You’re so brave. And kind. A real class act. And just like that old girl was.” She laughs. Talking fondly about her Win. Her best friend.

 

“You got Annie in there too y’know. When you smile all I can see and think is her. She raised you all on her own without your dad, and not one person on this earth was stronger than she was. It’s an honour to know and love you, sugar. Every day I count my blessings for it.” Flo promises. Because what grandma can say less to her granddaughter on her wedding day?

 

“No more or I really will lose it.” Evie smiles. Voice wavering all emotional. She swallows the lump of happy-grief that clogs up her throat. She clears her throat and checks her smudged waterline in the mirror. Dabbing the corner of her eyes with a tissue.

 

It’s then that Hux reemerges into the bridal suite. Smiles wide at Evie in her dress. Hair perfectly groomed. Navy suit spotless and pristinely pressed. Pointed tan shoes on his feet. White tie melting as one to his white shirt. Pocket square of blue silk they bought him tipping out his breast pocket.

 

Boutonnière of ivory ranunculus, small clipping of eucalyptus and dried stalks of French lavender is sat ruler straight on his chest. Tied with beige velvety ribbon wound around the small offering of flowers. Kylo, Ben and Arthur has the same. All Men would be immaculately dressed up as usual.

 

He beams fully as he stands by the door. “Ladies. I do come bearing gifts.” He starts happily.

 

Evie sniffles tears away and watches him open the door. Filling the other side of it is his pressed, blue suited boyfriend. Dark eyes flirting with the room ahead of him. Hands crossed behind his back. Big chest puffing out.

 

His eyes melt like warmed cocoa drizzled with honey when they land on Evie. His smile tips at the corner. Face full up of playful emotion.

 

“I’ve been tasked with very important messenger duties.” He explains. Kissing Hux on the cheek before coming in the room and crossing to the glowing Bride. He brings his hands around his front and there’s a thick white envelope in one hand. One name written on the sealed item.

 

Evie smiles. Ben comes to a slow stop right before her. Right by the open spill of the wide terrace doors. A wind tossed garden and trees and the vineyard beyond show her sunset isn’t far away.

 

Ben looks good in navy blue she must admit. White shirt. Sapphire waistcoat. Messy mane of shaggy short walnut- black hair styled. Goatee clipped and trimmed. Big body framed well by a powerful suit.

 

“He said to put in your hands directly.” He grins. Evie reaches out and takes it.

 

“Shit. Babydoll. You look cute.” Ben leers at her. Evie blinks and smiles. Fights off rolling her eyes.

 

“We were aiming for a lot more than just ‘ _cute_ ’ honey.” Flo chides him thinly. Ben chuckles.

 

“You’ve done it now.” Hux warns lowly from over by the door.

 

Ben turns and catches Evie’s eyes. “You look gorgeous. He’s a lucky guy. _Damn_ him.” Ben winks.

 

Evie tutts in exasperation. But she throws her arms around Ben and hugs him anyway. He gives her a squeeze back.

 

“Welcome to the family.” Ben grins when they pull back. “It fucking sucks.” He jokes.

 

Before he steps back across to his partner, Evie crosses to her dresser and hands him her letter. She holds it out to Ben.

 

“If you’d be so kind.” Evie asks. Ben bows his head. Accepting it. Giving her a mock salute.

 

“Pleasures all mine. See you at the altar sweet cheeks.” He smirks with his departure.

 

He shoots Flo a quick charming-rascals wink too. “Save a dance for me at the reception, beautiful?” He urges. Clutching a hand over his heart.

 

“You betcha.” Flo leers right back. Ben blows her a kiss. Hux holds the door for him.

 

Ben pretends to be flustered. “Aw. You do love me tidge.”

 

“You’re a himbo idiot.” Hux sighs at his boyfriend. Shaking his head. Ben thumbs at his redheads jaw all flirty. Kisses the tip of his chin.

 

“I’m _your_ himbo idiot baby.” He assures him as they step out the door.

 

“Lovebirds.” Flo smirks.

 

Flo and Evie share a grin to each other as the hot young couple leave. Flo eyes the letter the brides fingers are fidgeting over. The parchment paper was immaculately luxurious. Almost felt like cloth under her fingertips.

 

Flo nudges her chin toward the letter. “I’ll leave you for a half hour to read it. I’ll let you know when the flowers arrive and then the photographer will want some outside shots of ya.” She glows with happiness. Patting her hand as she heads for the door.

 

“I probably gotta go straighten Arthurs tie. He usually does it all wrong, Ugh. Honestly. Husbands. Such headaches. You’ll know soon enough.” She smiles all devilish. She curls a laced trimmed white hankie into Evies hand.

 

“Might be needing that too, sugar.” She says helpfully. Pats her hand. Before she totters across and pulls open the suites door and disappears through the other side.

 

Evie is fizzing over with excitement as she goes out to the terrace. Holding up her brilliant white skirts that glow in the sunshine. She sets herself on the small, two seater, beige cushioned, wrought iron bench. Under the huge old oak tree. Dappled in sunny spots and irregular spits of shade. She weighs the letter carefully in her hands. Rubs her thumb over the letters indented by his scratchy nibbed Mont Blanc fountain pen. Bleed of smooth dropped ink could only have come from such a fine expensive pen.

 

She runs her thumb along the seal and pulls out the sheet of paper. Smiles when she sees the words carved there. Stark black on ivory cream paper. Hotel insignia crowning the page. Heralding his carefully chosen words;

 

 

_` Evie, ` _ `  
`

 

`` _` It should come as no shock to you that I’ve never written a love letter before. Not to anyone. ` _

__

_` You are the writer between the two of us, and by comparison to your letter, I’m sure my words will seem, unpolished, or rough. Unprepared and inadequate - but I’m gonna try anyway. Please excuse them if they are no good. ` _

__

_` You know words aren’t my easiest thing. I don’t excel at them, but I’ve been told the sentiment behind them is what matters most; you matter most. So I will attempt to say something worthy that you deserve to read on our wedding day. ` _ `  
`

`` _` Evie. You are the most incredible person. And trust me, I don’t say this lightly. The way you move through life astounds me. It always did. It still does. ` _

__

_` You taught me rare things like hope and goodness really do exist; you taught me to believe that I’m deserving of feeling both those things. ` _ `  
`

`` _` You made me realise I am not my past. I am not just the scars and anger that once made me up. I am more. ` _

__

_` Instead, I am my future and I’m lucky that my future gets to be alongside you. It is my privilege to be a part of it. ` _ `  
`

`` _` I never thought I’d be a fortunate enough man to love someone like you. Never considered how it would feel to have someone like you, love me as deeply and wholeheartedly as you do. Don’t stop. Please never stop.` _

__

_` I confess I can’t wait to marry you. Not just because of the fact that it will make you my wife. But because it will make you more a part of me than you are now. You’ll be my name. The best part about my name will be the fact I can share in it with you. ` _

__

_` I love you more than anything I’ve ever known - anything that I’ve ever felt. I know I said I am not my past. But if I had to go back and suffer through every cut and every scar in order to find you - I’d do it all over again. Just like that-` _

__

_` Kitten. It’s no secret I’m not worthy of you. But I will try my best each day to earn that honour. ` _ `  
`

_` Yours- ` _

__

_` Kylo ` _

__

__

Flo was right - she did need that handkerchief after all. She tips the lace corner into her eyes to soak up the aptly overflowing happy tears. She re-read it three times. Heartened by the fact that - as he’d said - words don’t come easily from him and with good reason. But for her he’d open his veins or split open his heart. So she could fully see hers was the name that’s scored onto it.

 

She sits there. Devouring her letter on the sunny terrace. All those sacred words. Until Flo calls her in as the flower bouquets had arrived. Evie dries her tears and heads in. Grasping the beautiful clasped bunch of flowers. It was a local florist who was suggested to her by Maria, the vineyard events planner. Evie had chosen a simple botanical and floral arrangement. All using local blooms.

 

Hydrangeas, eucalyptus, blush peonies, Astrantias, sage leaves, and brunias. Lots of long stemmed botanical green, gentle mauves, blush pinks, and soft greys. All bound tight with a frothy cream ribbon of organza. And beige hemp rope tied in a bow over that.

 

Evie lifts the flowers to her face - gets a big scent of it. Sticky leafy green and flower nectar. Flo gets her and Hux outside so they can get some photos. Around the terrace. On the patio. In the orchard. Only one more hour to go until sunset.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any happy tears? 💕


	60. Bachelors & Ceremonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double feature; wham bam 💕

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ben sways back into the pool house room. The groom room - as it were. Evie’s letter clutched in his suave fingers. And the handsome moody groom is suited up and ready. Just slipping his Fendi monogrammed cuff-links in his white sleeves. Waistcoat and tie on. Jacket lay pressed and ready on the neat bed.

 

Kylo eyes his twin in the mirror as he flounces his way back in, letter in hand. Kylo’s smile quirks up at the corners and he turns to face him. Slotting the last cufflink through. Doing it up.

 

“You do know I’m not a postal service.” Ben says. Playfully laying the letter into Kylo’s waiting hand.

 

“Really? Then I must ask what the purpose of you is?” Kylo sarks lowly. Looking down at the letter. At Evie’s loopy neat hand.

 

“How is she?” Kylo asks. Flickers his eyes up to Ben. Who grins at his twins curiosity. Can see the enquiry chip at those honey-flint eyes.

 

“She’s a radiant bride. Glowing with all happiness.” Ben mocks.

 

Kylo rolls his eyes. Holds the letter in both hands. “I assume you can amuse yourself for a half hour?”

 

“Sure? You might need help with the big words.” Ben grins at him. Kylo’s stoic glare pierces into his brother.

 

“I will be at the bar.” He smiles. Patting Kylo’s shoulder before he smirks and sets off on course for a whiskey. Wedding in just an hour. Doing up his jacket as he goes.

 

Kylo listens for the latch on the walled door before he steps out to the terrace. He opens the letter hastily as he heads around the villa, to the gardens overlooking the vineyard. He perched himself on the white day bed.

 

Curls forwards. Places his elbows on his knees and reads. Doesn’t know why he felt he wanted to read it out here, under the bay trees and the old oaks. Sat on the manicured lawn with the scent of lavender in his nose: it seemed like something his Evie would do.

 

So he unfurls the folded cream paper, scans the familiar hand in neat navy blue ink, and then he proceeds to read her letter;

 

 

_` My dearest Kylo, ` _

_` I am no stranger to reading about love. Matter of fact; it seemed to be what drew me to writing in the first place. The fact I might get the opportunity to pen words of great love stories. And now I get to write this to you, my beautiful fiancé. ` _

__

_` I’m glad my first love letter goes out to you. ` _

__

_` Jenny Han once wrote ‘If love is like a possession, maybe my letter is my exorcism.” I adore this quote because that’s exactly what I’ve always thought and dreamed that great love is all about; possession, adoration and longing. Fevered mad and passionate. ` _

__

_` Only my love for you? Oh, It is so so much more. ` _

__

_` I put a lot of stock in the power of words (after all I am a writer down to the very marrow of my bones) but no words that I can summon will ever be tolerable enough to tell you how much I love you. ` _

__

_` Our love is more than words. More than a mere inked sentence on a piece of paper. Somehow what we have is more than love. ` _

__

_` As amazing as this whole wedding has been; as much fun as I’ve had planning it and how much I’ve laughed, I can’t wait for the days to follow it. Because that means we’ll be home, and working on building a life together. Our life. ` _

__

_` You’ve become my home. There can never be anywhere else for me to be - because being with you? That is my new belonging. ` _

__

_` You are a great man and I mean that in the strongest, truest sense of the phrase. You feel deeply, think deeply, and live deeply. I admire that about you so much. You’re such a wonderful man Kylo. I’m the luckiest woman breathing to soon bear the title of being your wife. A title I hope I do you proud in, every day. ` _

__

_` I’ve never met a man quite like you. And it makes me honest to god smile to think I’ll never meet another. Nor do I wish too. For I have you.` _

__

_` You are the man I can’t wait to kiss. To hold. To have. To see you opposite me on the pillow in bed each morning. To see you smile at me - that smile of yours that makes me weak. It also makes me want to be bolder and braver. To worry less. And just savour each and every moment. ` _

__

_` I could go on and count down all the ways I love you til this pen runs out of ink and the world runs out of paper. ` _

__

_` Instead I will simply settle to say that I am unreservedly and enduringly in love with you. Body and soul. Mind and heart. And plenty more parts of me besides- ` _

__

_` It’s an honour to love you Kylo Ren. And I think it shall be an even greater one to marry you. I can hardly wait. ` _

__

_` All my love,` _

__

_` Your Evie. ` _

Kylo re-reads her letter til his eyes jumble up all the inky words. He smiles and strokes his thumb over the indent where she scratched her name and her devotion to him.

 

He’s about to go and marry her- and he’s smiling at the blue penned words of ‘ _Your Evie.’_ There’s something so real and final about seeing how she said and wrote them with such conviction.

She can’t wait to marry him? Oh he’s frothing at the mouth to get them wed by now.

 

He was aching to see her. Literally. A gnawing feeling burrowing his stomach like acid when they were apart.

 

He got lousy nights sleep with her gone. Tossing and turning. His mind went ricocheting back to a time before Evie. Pre- Love. When he slept so fitful he could hardly call it rest at all.

 

He had the most expensive upholstered hand carved bed frame. The best mattress and pillows money could buy. The softest sheets imaginable. And he couldn’t drift off easy like he could with Evie there snuggled into his neck.

 

He’d actually enjoyed his bachelor party - loathed him to say it. Even though it had been solely planned by Ben, they made a great outing of it. Celebrating his last day of singledom.

 

Ben had a car pick them all up and drive them to one of the most famed winery’s just outside Florence. The Antinori estate. At first it looked like Ben merely had them all dressed formal in ties and suited up to drive out to a field.

 

Out here past the ancient churches and villages and slotted into the tumbling hills. As the car slowly wound down the grey ribboned road of the drive. The sleek horizon started to shift and come into itself.

 

The buildings itself is a work of art. Unlike most of the winery’s in rustic Tuscany, it’s not a castle or an old villa. It’s a great edifice of modern brilliance. Designed by a renowned Italian firm - Archea Associati.

 

He’s familiar with their work. Very much so. A partially submerged sandstone winery in Spain. And the rusted steel of Château Barde-Haut in France.

 

The place is amazing in itself. Possibly why Ben chose it. Knowing these two things would be perfect for giving a send off to his Twin as he heads off into matrimony.

 

The 50,000 square metre of the place blended seamlessly into the folds of the hillside. Almost undetectable Two floors. The first is a Belvedere gallery. The second a towering long stretch of rust terracotta and steel.

 

The lower levels sink into the ground, where double height terracotta vaults have heat seeping into the tiles walls from the earth to achieve the perfect thermal-hygrometric conditions for maturing the wine. Secluded heart of the winery is dug deep into the earth. Restaurant, museum and wine shop above the ground.

 

They are met at the estate by one of the family members and owners. Who greets them all before taking them on a tour. They go right into the terracotta bowels of the estate - the one of the many vault rooms. They are shown the process and the history. And then they’re taken back up for a tasting.

 

This is the part Kylo enjoys the most - They all do. They sip Chianti Classico. Pinot Bianco. Rosso. They try one of everything and leave with having purchased a fair few cases.

 

They lunch on the restaurant terrace. Overlooking the vines. Ben put in a special order for steak. Lots of steak. This region is, after all, famed for its bistecca alla fiorentina. Boned pink steak. Succulent. Melt in the mouth meat.

 

They start with a small dome of macaroni and duck ragu paired with a Rosso. Then they get a vastly expensive bottle of red Sangiovese and really go all out with their steaks. Served with a side of grilled buttered lobster and roasted baby potatoes - skin all crispy and studded with roasted rosemary and garlic.

 

Their dessert is brandy and cigars out under the blazing red of sun. Warming the terracotta clay building enfolded around them. As they puff on Cohiba Behike cigars - one case alone cost $18,000. Ben hunted it down especially.

 

“God. I miss smoking. Haven’t had a cigarette since it was was supposed to be good for you.” Arthur sighs happily as they switch from French Brandy to the estates wonderful Grappa. Ben laughs loudly.

 

“Mm. Happy days...” He groans as he blew smoke rings and chuckled lazily. Full of meat and wine and enjoying the flush of dopamine sinking into his blood. Zapping and rushing. Sparkling with it.

 

“I feel like we’re in the movies.” Ben sighed. “Right on the set of Mad Men. Drinking, smoking and cigars.” He leers.

 

“All we need are some double breasted flannel suits and some outdated sexism and we’re good to go.” Arthur chuckles.

 

Kylo smiles. Tongue furred up with the taste of his cigar. His dark black-honey eyes gleam with the burst of sunset. He tilts his head back in his chair and savours the sun on his skin.

 

“Ben I believe, is the expert on outdated sexism.” Kylo teases.

 

“Hey. I’ve been nice to you all day- don’t make me take it back now.” He warns. Jabbing his cigar held between two fingers and stubbing it towards his brother.

 

Kylo quirks a brow. He supposed he had.

 

“Consider it fair dues for winding me up about all those strippers you were gonna get me.” He counters.

 

“He’s got a point there, son.” Arthur agrees. Ever the peace keeper.

 

“Yeah yeah. I’m not liking the ganging up on me here. Now drink up.” Ben pours the old man some more Grappa. Grinning.

 

“I’m glad none of us are driving back.” Arthur says with mirth. Puffing out a silvery cloud of smoke. Crossing his legs in the chair and lounging back like the boys were.

 

They sit there and smoke and drink and talk fondly until the sun sets.

 

The next day in the groom-suite is a fairly low key one. They all three have a big fried breakfast on the terrace. Sausages, sunny side eggs, bacon, toast and fried green tomatoes. And copious amounts of strong coffee. Under the morning sunshine and it’s the perfect wedding breakfast. Arthur reads his section of the paper and gives Kylo the crossword puzzle.

 

Arthur and Kylo understood each other. Understood they didn’t always need to talk all the time. And fill the silence. Ben goes off for a workout run. Arthur goes for a swim in the main hotel pool - he was banned from the bridal suite during daytime hours. That makes Kylo chuckle.

 

So the time comes. He grooms himself ready for his wedding. Has a beautician from the spa come and give him a manicure and hand massage. Has a long indulgent shower. Scrubs his hair and his body clean as anything. Then he has good close a shave and rubs some balm on his scarred face.

 

He gets dressed in his suit and Ben resurfaces from his run sweaty and gross to use his shower and get ready too. Steals all the hot water in existence and sings badly in the shower. Whines about Kylo’s Aqua Di Parma shampoo too.

 

And then this is where he is now. Sat in the gardens with his brides letter in his hand. Trees swaying overhead. Air full of green and spice of bay, olive, and lavender.

 

He looks across the sky and see’s the blaze of it turning golden. Redder and sun kissed rosebud pink. Sunset was soon. Brewing over the horizon. And with it? His bride.

 

_Soon_.

 

He folds the letter up. Keeping it safe in hand. He crosses back to the suite and tucks the letter safe in his bedside cabinet. With his personal items. Wants it kept safe. Cherished. He slips it in the drawer. Gently touches it one last time. Like it’s a talisman.

 

He shuts the drawer and picks up his suit. Slides it on and adjusts the button. Pulling the fine thing taut over his broad shoulders. Ben ambles back from the bar and says the photographer is done with the bridal party. Now he wants ones of the groom, best man, and Arthur, down in the gardens.

 

The ceremony was being held in the gardens. Under a cyclops of setting golden sun. And an unblemished St. Giles blue sky. An huge arched tunnel of jasmine, clematis, and rose vines which looks out from the garden up on the hill where the hotel is perched, and peers down out onto the green gold vista of the vineyard.

 

Lights wound to the vines just in case. To glimmer softly in the dying day as evening draws in after their ceremony. A meagre few rows of chairs either side of the aisle set to be filled by those they loved most.

 

No sides either. No groom v.s bride. Kylo’s not exactly traditional and Evie doesn’t think it’s fair to pit family and friends against each other. The walk up the ‘altar’ will be a beautiful one. Weaving through the immaculate Italian garden. Through a walled archway of a door, up the gravel pea shingle beige path, and then twenty tiny steps down the aisle.

 

Twenty short steps to ‘ _I do.’_

 

Old grey French rattan backed chairs are laid out ready. Wild Italian lowers clasped on the chairs at the end of the inside aisle side. Green and pink and whisper grey palettes to match the brides assorted wildflower bouquet. There’s steel lanterns with flickering tall Dorset-cream candles already lit. For a romantic atmosphere. When they stand in front of the officiate together, they’ll be dappled in Italian sunset and surrounded by the scent of jasmine and roses. There couldn’t be a more perfect spot.

 

Nowhere else on earth he’d rather marry her-

 

Kylo feels tense nerves as he and Ben have their photos taken. It must be showing when he gathers with all the - few- invited guests for a soirée drink in the hotel bar before the ceremony begins. It’s a small affair. They didn’t want many people here. It’s a private thing this wedding.

 

He’s clutching onto his flute of champagne so tight he almost snaps the glass. He mingled and chatted with everyone.

 

He asked Dominick and his wife, Anneta along. Geneva was only a mere two hours away - it was practically a day trip for them. They sometimes went scampering across the Italian border to Milan for a long weekend. They’d been over the moon to attend Kylo’s wedding. He was more a friend than an investor anyhow. He chats to Arthur. Watches Ben circulate among the guests too.

 

 

Hux is here briefly aswell. Him and Ben steal a horny filthy kiss from each other on the veranda when Ben thinks Kylo isn’t looking.

 

Maria comes and politely whispers to him that their officiate has arrived. And she’ll start corralling guests down onto the terrace and into their seats.

 

Hux and Arthur slip away. And Ben - trying to fix his mussed collar and tie and making no attempt whatsoever to tame his shaggy hair that Hux’s fingers raked through - falls in step with his brother as they head down too. Taking their seats to the right. Right at the front of the row of chairs.

 

Kylo has a quiet word with their officiant - a Protestant priest. A rarity for the catholic region. An olive skinned man with grey thick hair, a big wrinkled smile and a sweet Italian cadence and lulling voice. Father Romero - that they have already exchanged vows.

 

  
He smiles warmly when he learns they did it through letters. Kylo’s explains It’s now just a simple matter of the I do’s, the exchanging of rings, and the kiss.

 

Father Romero is very progressive - he tells Kylo he’s been doing all sorts of weddings here on the vineyard for years. Mainly because he’s not selective. He’d officiated same sex partners, different religions, multi faith marriages. He doesn’t subscribe to the notion that religion or gender should intercept on love. Kylo likes that.

 

The simple four piece strong quarter they chose, start to flurry some notes in the air. Violin. Viola. And cellos. Musicians tucked right to the side of the left aisle in the garden.

 

Notes signalling the start of the wedding.

 

Everyone is seated as Ben stands right by Kylo’s side at the front by the priest. Two great identical pillars of navy in their Brioni suits. Ben twists his head back over his shoulder with a smirk. Kylo keeps his composure for a little longer

 

His twins smile grows filthy as he watches Hux lead Flo down the aisle. She’s joined sweetly on his arm. Flowers held in front of her. Bouquet just like Evie’s. Disappearing sun casts over all of them under the green green arch.

 

Ben winks filthily at his partner before they sit down adjacent to them. Hux blushes only a little. Flo beams across at Kylo. He bolsters a smile back to her.

 

The next pair of footsteps coming down the aisle, cracking and shifting on the gravel path, _well_ \- actually, Kylo feels they walk far too slowly.

 

He can’t resist. He waits. He waits.

 

He turns his head. He _has_ to look.

 

There’s his bride. Her hand crooked to Arthur’s grey suited elbow. The old man looks cosy and snappy in his grey suit and pale blue tie.

 

Kylo smiles such a warm smile at her. His flinty eyes melt. Sunset casted red gold off them.

 

She’s stunning. Wispy dress overplayed with some gauzy, frothy white fabric that the copper sun shines through. The same floaty trims form almost sleeves at her shoulders. A sweet scallop edge of lace sits low down the v neck. Like a dusting of icing sugar on top of something already _so_ sweet.

 

Her expression is glowing with love for him. _Radiant_. He’s never described anyone as being radiant in his life - but she deserves that the way she looks right now. Through simply gentle make up that adds to her beauty.  
  
  


A simple and embroidered white dress. Stitched with flowers and looking like it was made for her. The apples of her cheeks pink as she catches his look. Cheeks crease with her smile. Brimming with excitement and the joy that missing him has caused.

 

Her eyes look blue-silver-wet. Like the ocean when waves crest and shatter on it. He doesn’t stop watching her til she’s close - walking walking walking then she’s _there_. Right in front of him.

 

She softly kisses Arthur’s cheek before he sits down next to Flo. Passes her hand onto Kylo’s.

 

His big paw swoops over and scoops up her hand - holds on tight. He loses his gaze in hers for a second. And doesn’t need to speak. She can read the wonder in his honey-black eyes that tells her one thing. ‘ _Beautiful, Kitten.’_

 

She grasps his hand back too. Small little fingers firm around his own. So firm. So sure. Kylo feels his skin shimmer with the desire and delight of her touch.

 

They turn forwards and Father Romero addresses and welcomes the dearly beloved congregation and the bride and groom. He begins by saying a little about Love, and matrimony. How it has been his duty and honour to marry all kinds of people. And he still gets amazed by the devotion some couples show, much like them.

 

They both promise to forsake all others. Promise to take each other. And be faithful in sickness and health. To protect and to cherish each other. Kylo strokes his eyes into hers answering that question and makes her smile.

 

Ben steps forwards with the rings - Kylo has been barking at him all day not to forget them or to lose them.

 

She takes his hand so kindly when it’s her turn first. Lifts his offered knuckles up so gently. It makes him swallow a sticky lump in his throat.

 

Evie slips the engraved platinum ring onto her beloved Grooms finger. Up past the massive knuckles and the inked tattoos. He smiles at its snug perfect fit. The simplicity of it. Clean silver with a harsh linear square edge. How befitting- it looks like his sort of style.

 

It feels so right when she slots it on his finger. It feels like it already belongs.

 

The one she bought him in a Florence the other day was from some Italian designer collection she’s never heard of before. Very few ever made apparently. Suitable really. Because there is no one else quite like him. Unique band for a unique man.

 

And there’s white-gold in the inside inlay where the date of their wedding is scored into the metal.

 

He gently takes her hand, and anoints her with the second ring. She smiles. Cause this one was all his type. The engagement band was pure heirloom and all family. This ring he’s putting on her is _pure_ Kylo Ren.

 

All sparkling diamonds. Designer. Running into the millions possibly? She wouldn’t be surprised. A big fat square clustered band of them. Sandwiched between two rings of thin silver closing in top and bottom. A _lot_ of sparkle. And a _lot_ of love.

 

He tentatively strokes a fingertip over the diamonds. Eyes flickering up to find hers. Those baby blues look all moist again. Like kyanite stones left out in the rain. She smiles a toothy grin when he does.

 

Because some far off memory glimmered in her mind. How he’d once touched a fingertip to her hand like that when he’d been in shackles.

 

Her eyes moisten because she never suspected in her wildest dreams that they’d come this far. Mean this much to each other. Love as fiercely as they do. It was all jumbled back then. She didn’t know what to make of the intensity of their connection. _Now_ \- it’s come to this-

 

Exchanging wedding rings and promising to love each other without end. Kylo’s  Smile is creased so much, dimples showing when he announces his “With this ring, I thee wed.’

 

It pangs something soft in her heart like a twanging string pulled taut on a musical instrument. Something that sets off her happy tears all over again. Rightfully so. She’s glad they didn’t read out their vows. That letter was so much more tangible and everlasting than a few fumbled words spoken here. Words could fade in the moment. Letters keep them alive for longer. For years.

 

Father Romero then bestows them with good wishes. A happy life. And ends with the part Kylo couldn’t _wait_ for.

 

The sealing of vows with the kiss. The declaration of marriage. So simple- these binding short words and now they’re man and wife.

 

“You may now kiss your bride.” The priest beams as he steps back.

 

Kylo thought he’d never ask. He’d been poised for this moment for two days now.

 

One hand slips around her waist the other cups her neck. Ring so cool on her skin. He reels her in. Soft words on his smiling lips. Out of earshot of everyone else. “ _C’mere kitten.”_ He beams.

 

His lips carefully take hers. But it still feels like they bruise her with heat and passion.

 

Evie’s heart soars to the back of her mouth as she kisses him back. Smiling and leaking tears. Kissing her _husband_.

 

Light claps echo their ears from around their happy beloved guests. He pulls back far too quick - for his liking. But he can kiss her madly when they’re alone - later.

 

He nuzzles her nose with the tip of his before they pull back. Join hands, and slowly walk back down the makeshift aisle as the music starts up again. A string wedding march heralds their walk down the aisle as Mr & Mrs Ren.

 

The photographer steals them almost right away to take pictures around the estate gardens. It was for them and for the magazine article after all. The reception Dinner is being held on the garden terrace.

 

The gravelled patio lined with Italian oak trees, to one side of the vineyard view from the hotel villa, near the walled orchards. Ideal for many courses to be carried out to them much nearer the kitchens and more importantly - according to Flo - much nearer the bar.

 

Plus there’s more guests tonight. It’s easier to host it closer to the hotel villa. The scenery is no less stunning. Lights and candles hanging in metal lanterns in the big trees. Candles on the grey and cream accented table too. Gold cutlery. Gold candlesticks. Big garland set along the table runner and tea lights flicker gently off every sparkling diamond wine glass. Customised calligraphic mane cards mark the places. And the bride and groom share the head of the long, long table.

 

After the assorted photos, they gather on the terrace near the dinner table and mingle with their guests. The wedding party all as one again. Which both twins are grateful for. Evie and Kylo sip champagne and laugh and smile with their guests as dainty savoury hors d’oeuvres are passed around by waiters on silver trays.

 

Little cakes of bruschetta with Parma ham, asparagus and olive oil. Olives wrapped up in a blanket of basil with a tooth pick speared through. A wedge of Mozzarella stuck on the end. Artichoke and Pam fried asparagus and pancetta. There’s smoked salmon puffs too. Prosecco and crab puffs with green olives. It’s all very dainty and decadent.

 

Evie’s eaten six of each so far. Dulled the sweet sting of champagne on her tongue. Numbs the fuzzing drunken love sitting happy low in her belly.

 

Kylo introduces her to Dominick and Annetta. Who are very pleased to meet her. Such a warm polite couple and they offer them both exclusive use of their many properties in Switzerland any time they like. Any time of year. For skiing or hiking.

 

Evie envisages a quiet winter break. Curled up in a modern penthouse with him. Fire roaring. Watching snow rasp at the big soundless window. She imagines such a view is worthy of a big window. She knows him. He would’ve made the view the focal feature of the home.

 

A warm penthouse in the snowy alps? Eating Swiss chocolate. Reading books and watching the snow crash into the pine trees. Handsome husband right there next to her. Now that sounds like nothing short of heaven.

 

After the appetisers and a fair few bottles of vintage Dom being had by everyone, they move to take their seats at the table as the start of dinner is served. Kylo and Evie take their place at the head of the table.

 

Barely touched their asses on the seats and his hand is scooping up hers. People around them are chatting and drinking. Pouring wine and passing across the water jug to those who need it. Baskets of sourdough and ciabatta bread were already on the table. Guests already buttering up chunks of the crusty bread on their side plates.

 

Kylo isn’t. He snatches the first moment alone with his bride that he’s had in two whole days. He clutched her right hand and leans close to kiss the knuckles.

 

“You look so beautiful, baby. That dress looks like it was designed for you.” He says simply. But the weight of love in his burnt-walnut eyes, drowns her. He loses his gaze in hers and she smiles right back.

 

“Thankyou.” She blushes. “And I like you in blue. My _handsome_ handsome man.” She says. Holding her hand over his. Clasping their fingers together. She would’ve thought he’d have opted for a rich black. That was his traditional colour after all.

 

He leans in. Because of course they’ve shuffled their chairs in close. Together.

 

Her white skirts overlap the side of his knee. He kisses her knuckles again with a smile. Breathes in the Floris perfume scent from her skin. Looks her in the eyes. Savours the fact she’s finally finally finally here at last. By his side. Soothes him that she’s here.

 

“Ben helped talk me into it.” He admits.

 

“I’ll give him my thanks.” She says warmly. Stroking his lapel. That hand, her _left_ hand, on his chest. He can feel the ring pressing through his shirt.

 

“Oh I missed you.” He adds in a hush. Sinking in to pucker a soft yearning kiss at her mouth. Frowns like he’s in agony and yet he does it again. His face so kissable and perfect. That beautiful complexion simply _begged_ for kisses.

 

She cups over his scar and kisses him back lightly. Her wedding rings rubbing cold at his skin. He pecks her lips again and again and again. Like he can’t get enough. Plucking the champagne sweetness and pink lipstick off her lips. His kisses make her entire body pulse with beautiful blooming desire.

 

“Do you like it? It seems to fit you ok...” She says when they pull back. She her fingertips touch the cool smooth of his wedding ring.

 

“It’s perfect.” He tells her. “I noticed the inscription too. The date. And our initials.” He smiles. Thinking of the ‘EBR & KR’ scribed on the inside of his wedding band.

 

“I never knew you had a middle name. You never told me.” He grins. Eyes crease with mirth from his smile.

 

She makes a face and sips some water. He’s got one elbow on the table. The other still holding hers. Has to touch her. _Needs_ to.

 

“I can’t stand my middle name. Gran picked it.” She frowns. Swallowing the lemony ice water. Clearing her head. Blood a little fizzy like hot tangy champagne. Maybe that’s because her big handsome husband it sat so close. Eyes stroking along her skin like warm appraising sunshine.

 

“Evelyn Beatrix Winslow.” He smiles. She wrinkles her nose up. He wants to kiss at all those little crinkles of skin.

 

“After Beatrix Potter, apparently.” Evie insists.

 

“It’s adorably _you_.” Kylo insists. Sipping his Sangiovese red. Giving her teasing eyes.

 

“It’s an old ladies name.” She counters. “Like Pearl. Or Myrtle.” She complains gently.

 

“Well, when we’re all old and grey and hunched over. You’ll be _my_ little old lady. And it’ll be perfectly suitable then.” He jokes.

 

Leaning in for another peck. Big paw stroking up her thigh under the table. She makes a small grumpy sound of disagreement.

 

He sucks a sweet kiss under her ear in apology for teasing. He keeps the affectionate touches tame. After all, Father Romero is on the other side of the table. They offered him to stay for dinner as a thank-you on top of marrying them.

 

“Save it for the bridal suite, toots.” Flo says to them. Sat directly on Evie’s left. Smiling wide at them both and pouring up Evie’s wine glass to the brim with a white sharp Sauvignon.

 

They stop the kisses and flirty touches as the first course comes. They tuck into their rabbit minestrone soup with gusto. But Kylo makes sure his knee never stops pressing into her leg as they eat. Touching into those wispy white skirts.

 

Purple-indigo dark fully kisses the sky now. Though honey gold light flows softly from the candles on the runner in the centre of the table. And festoon lights are strung up in the trees covering them.

 

Light cast over them all. Windows in the villa all lit up and gold with it. Candles everywhere around the bar. There’s lights over the dance floor too. That bronze gramophone is back, crooning scratchy old Italian mambo melodies as they all eat. The quartet band will play something after dinner too.

 

They make their way slowly through all the courses. After the exquisite soup, there’s thick golden pasta parcels of duck ravioli, then there’s the main; the exquisite love-birds dish. The small succulent boned meat of drenched in a white wine and shallot sauce. Then comes the Marsala sponge shell pudding topped with coffee hazelnut ice cream. The one Kylo chose. It’s piped with bitter chocolate hearts and served with plenty of sharply-tart raspberries.

 

People drink dessert wine and pretty soon the perfectly laid table is in disarray. Candles low. Place setting missed. Drips of wine staining the runner. Crumbs scattered all about.

 

The cakes are brought out by the chef with the coffee. Two tall circular rustic cakes. Icing patchy white smeared on the side. They couldn’t decide between the two so Kylo said ‘ _why not both?’_

 

She believes a ‘Naked cake’ was the technical term. They had two flavours. One, a pear and a chocolate sponge. Decorated with drips of melted chocolate and whole peeled golden pairs on top. Scattered with green leaves and chopped nuts. The second is a raspberry and lemon sponge. Decorated on top with bursting fresh figs, blackberries and snips of rosemary.

 

Evie and Kylo cut them together. She curls her hand around the big cake knife and Kylo wraps his big hands around hers. Helps her guide the knife through the cake. Cutting a slice until all the plump fresh fruit tumbled off.

 

Evie gets icing on her fingers. When no one is looking as the cake is being plated up, Kylo’s bringing her hand to his lips and sucks off the creamy vanilla frosting.

 

Evie blushes. Despite herself. She clumsily feeds him a forkful of coffee sponge cake. Raining crumbs down his chin where she’s not exactly particularly sober. He’s not sober either. They don’t care.

 

The band starts playing up music behind them on the makeshift patio dance floor. First dance sort of swaying music. 

 

“Fancy a spin then, Mrs Ren?” Kylo’s asking. Seizing her hips and drawing her in.

 

“Mm. Of course. But you might need to hold me very closely.” She smiles. His dark eyes spark with love and mischief.

 

“That, I can do.” He promises. Leading her by the hand to the dance floor. When he gets her there he links his arms around her back.

 

Slots their hips to press together. She presses her hands to his chest as he encircles her. Slipping round his waist as they start swaying to the music.

 

This phenomenal villa around them suddenly ceases to exist. It crumbles away. She nuzzles into his chest, smells the cologne on his shirt. Feels the hard heat of his body under her palms.

 

Listens to the steady thump and thud of his heartbeat as it pounds through his cavernous chest. He always claimed he didn’t have a heart. Just a calcified shard of flint.

 

Only he knows it’s real honesty when she comes near - because that’s when it actually starts to beat.

 

Kylo’s resting his head on hers. Feeling the pretty jewelled clip twined around her hair. Wound into the soft-silk of it. Smelling the jasmine shampoo she’d used. He lets himself close his eyes. Just holding her like this. Being at peace. Calm. Soothed. Impossibly in love.

 

The slow dance seems to last forever. Low thrumming notes wandering into the air. They stay in hold until the song gets more upbeat. And more people come up to dance.

 

Ben leads Flo - of course. Arthur, Hux, the estate owner and Father Romero seem to be on the Grappa already. Merrily talking and drinking the night away. Evie snags a another slice of cake and sits and gossips about Kylo with Annetta as Kylo and Dominick were at the bar.

 

Then she dances with everyone. Flo. Arthur. Hux. Ben. Dominick. Then Ben -again. He dances with Annetta too - slightly worrying how the woman was so gorgeous and thin she looked like she’d snap if she was held too tight. Her tall swaying heels on her long legs seemed to make dancing a dangerous occupation.

 

Evie even insists that Maria and Marco come and take a drink with them - so the newlyweds can show their thanks and appreciation for their jobs well done. Everything was just- _brilliant_.

 

The wedding had surpassed all dreams Evie has ever had of her wedding day. She tells them this. 

 

She’s sure when she was younger - under the normative influence of a Disney princesses wedding- she imagined what it could be like. The grand church. Organ music. Crowds and crowds in attendance. The big poofy cupcake ball gown. The prince charming waiting on her at the end of the aisle. A white carriage and horses ready to trot them off into the sunset and a happily ever after.

 

She’s glad she grew up. Glad that she’s married to a man who - although he admits himself not to be perfect - is going to be the most wonderful husband living. Because she’ll wake up happy _every_ morning. What other kind of perfection is there?

 

After several more dances, several more drinks and and three entire slices of cake. Evie is ready for bed. Full of wine, bloodstream lazy and syrupy and slow, and she’s barely standing in these heels now. Straps jabbing into her sore toes.

 

Some others parted for their beds a while ago. Amazingly. Their priest is still going strong - Father Romero is still drinking with Arthur. Brandy now. They’re talking about sail boats.

 

Flo and Ben are still dancing. She kept on trying to squeeze Ben’s ass. “ _Any excuse to feel up this gorgeous chest, honey.”_ She winks. Hux is snorting laughter at the worried look on Ben’s face as he drinks his wine. Nearly shoots red wine out his nose. Flo promises it’s Hux’s turn next. Then she’s hosting a late night poker tournament with Ben. 

  
Kylo doesn’t even wanna know the rest- that wonderful old biddie would out-party them all to their graves.   
  


A few waiters mill around the bar in the villa on this beautiful cosy warm Italian night. Tidying things up for tomorrow. Evie cutely asked her Kylo if he’d consider sending over some champagne for them for an end of night drink for a job well done.

 

He smiles. Does as his wife asks. And sends over _two cases_. They all appreciate it very much.

 

Evie and Kylo decide to peel away from their drunken comrades. Kylo grasps her hand and nods everyone goodnight. Evie kisses everyone on the cheek before she leaves. Ben shoots Kylo a cheeky wink as him and his bride head off.

 

“You kids have a _nice_ night now...” Flo hollers after them, steaming raging drunk.   
  


They hear her and Ben natter as they move off.

 

“Ten bucks says we don’t see them until well into midday tomorrow.” Flo pipes up.

 

“I’ll take those odds. Raise you to tomorrow night. Midnight.” Ben sneers back.

 

Evie clutched her bouquet from the table before she leaves. And tosses it to Hux. Who catches it and his cheeks redden.

 

She turns over her shoulder and shoots a cleverly sly look at Ben before walking off into the night with her husband.

 

The crickets trill thick in the air. Trees hiss and shiver on the hot wind as they step down the terrace steps to their pool house - the honeymoon suite for tonight.

 

In the darkness of the night the bejewelled light wound on the patio olive tree, glows. As does the lit up pool. Evie sees the curtains to the bedroom are pulled shut. Doors left open. The curtains twitch and swing on the wind. Like sweeping beige skirts are brushing cream flagstones.

 

Something seemed afoot. He didn’t draw the curtains earlier.

 

Kylo steps up to them and casts them aside, sharp noise of them echoes on the rail. They both smile and spy the conniving hand of either Flo _or_ Ben at play.

 

The beds covered in ivory rose petals and candles have been lit around the bedside and on the far dresser. Makes the room darkly moody. And candle shadow and flame dances and skitters up the walls. As well as the amber glow of a lit fire in the hearth.

 

Evie steps into the room. Noticing something nestling on her pillow. A matte black box with silver writing. Lelo?  There’s a folded note tucked under.

 

She steps in the room and picks up the little box. When she slides back the lid she blushes. And snaps it shut.

 

“I think this is for you.” She says with a half laugh. Handing it over to him like it burnt her palm. Gives him the note too.

 

Kylo draws back the lid and sat inside the velvet lining was a black rubber ring. A cock ring to be precise.

 

He exhales a sigh through his nose. And reads the note aloud.

 

“To the happy couple- to put a bit of spice into your wedding night. Love Ben. P.S. Hux screamed when I wore mine.” He says lowly.

 

She tries not to focus too hard on that parting image. “What have I married into.” She smiles. Shaking her head in wonder. She’s too happy to be anything else.  
  


Kylo pads silent across the room and confines the offending rubber toy to the inside of his leather travel bag open on the floor by the roaring lit fireplace. Casting its amber heat through the chilly night as it grew cooler.

 

Evie sits on the chaise at the end of the bed. Undoing her shoes and kicking them in a pile. Kylo whips off his tie and undoes his top button.

 

He crouched to rub her sore feet. Kisses her kneecap and gathers them into his blue lap. Massages the soft arch of her feet. She likes feeling the way his ring is cool on her skin. She’s not used to seeing him wearing it just yet. It’s all new and fresh in her mind. But she can’t deny she adores the sight though- 

 

That big hand bound and marred by silver and the promises of their vows.

 

“Will you help me get this flowery contraption of torture out of my hair?” Evie asks him sweetly. He nods.

 

“Stand up and turn around, Kitten.” He tells her gently. Stroking his big warm hand along the back of her soft neck. She does. Height shortened a bit from the lack of white Prada heels.

 

She gathers her skirts and puts her back to him. He smiles at the sight of the silver vine twisted into her ruddy rust hair. Wisps of it loosened where she’s been dancing.

 

Beads of sweat from drinking and laughing still wriggled down the nape of her neck. Hot skin intensifying the hints of her perfume. He sets his brute fingers to work - trying to painlessly comb through her hair to unpick the winding thing.

 

He works gently for such a big man - not that he’d ever hurt her. After a couple of minutes and only a few tugs he manages to slide it out the tangled web of her golden-rust hair and she sighs in relief when it leaves. It’s still another fair few minutes picking out pins. Kylo cups his hands and she drops all the bendy little wire things into his palms. There’s quite the collection by the time she’s done. A mountain of them.

 

“And all I had to do was put on a suit.” Kylo speaks in amazement and humour as he watches the last pin come free. She laughs face scrunched up as she rubs her scalp. He abandons the little pile on the dresser next to the candles.

 

“Whoever has notions of the bride and groom sweeping each other instantly to fall onto bed in bliss their wedding night - I call lies on it.” Evie insists.

 

When she turns back. His wedding ring hand tenderly cups her neck. And his other finds her hip through her dress. In the dull half-glow of the beige and grey bedroom. His eyes look as soft as they’ve ever been. Charcoal-honey and melting at her.

 

“Whatever makes you think I won’t be sweeping you onto that bed?” He asks in a low hush.

 

They both know they’re tired from dancing and drink and all the business of planning this wedding. But still-

 

Both hands take her neck now. Her hand circles his wrist. Diamonds shimmer in exactly the way her eyes are gleaming up at him.

 

“Be under no illusions. I don’t need hours and hours on end to fuck you hard and make you cum and cum and _cum_. That comes later. But I _need_ to make love to my gorgeous wife on our wedding night.” He insists.

 

Before leaning in and giving her mouth the sweetest gentlest kiss.

 

She sighs into his mouth as the kiss deepens. Curling into each other. Her entire body shivering at his hushed words

 

He breaks away the kiss and she feels cold and aching. Part of her dies when his lips leave hers. That part will flutter to life when he kisses her once again.

 

He guided her around and finds the tie at the back of her waist. He undoes it one handed and with the other sweeps her hair carefully aside and starts kissing her neck, right in the crook, down to her shoulder.

 

She shudders and her eyes slip shut. He works the little tab of the zipper down and gets the gown off her. It slinks off her hips and crumpled in a pile at her toes. He smiles warmly at the sight. No fancy stuffy lingerie awaits him. No ruffles and flounces or slutty little uncomfy g-strings.

 

Just a set of very nice, matching pearl-silver underwear. A strapless bra which did magical wonders to her cleavage. And a cheeky pair of lacy briefs. Lace dripping over her pert ass and her round breasts.  A tiny little silver bow sits at her sternum on the bra, and on the front of her panties.

 

“I didn’t know if I should- have brought something more... dressy for the occasion. Maybe or corset or a basque or-?” She frets. Biting her lip.

 

Kylo turns her around. Grabs her hips real gentle. Thumbs over her hipbones. Watching candlelight and firelight kiss her skin amber-apricot pretty. _So so pretty_.

 

“You don’t need it.” He insists quietly. But powerfully. And clearly not- he was hard already. She should see what she does to him. Not her all trussed up. Uncomfy in pinching lingerie.  
  
  


Just her being _her_.

 

“Undress me baby. _Please_. I need to feel you.” He whispers softly. Kissing at her lips. Only sounds that come from them then. Heartbeats and kisses and wet smacks of mouths and gasps.

 

She gets him out his jacket. His waistcoat. Unbuttons his shirt slow and devours the skin she uncovers with hot closed mouth kisses. She undoes his belt and zipper and they get the rest of him bared. Shoes socks and all.

 

He doesn’t appear to be in any great hurry. He keeps his underwear on his hips and picks her up. Wraps her legs around his waist and gets them on the bed. Right in the middle.

 

  
He just kisses her and touches her until they are both dripping sweat onto the sheets and the rose petals crushed under them. Sickly sweet under their warm skin.

 

It’s so slow. And intimate. He takes his sweet time with her. Sucks two fingers in his mouth to get them dripping and slowly pushed her underwear aside to sink in. His whole body tightened when her wet pussy clenched tight on him. Perfect wet vice clutching and grabbing at his two fingers.

 

He slowly moves his hips in tandem with her. Works her bra off and gently cups one breast in her hand. Absolutely loves how his silver wedding ring glints, winking off the fires light. Shining at him.

 

Swirls his tongue around the rosy nipple. Tastes it. Sucks it. Teases with scraping teeth. Makes it almost raw with his big tongue. Swirls and swirls til she loses her mind. Fingers carefully slowly - maddeningly - pressing spots inside her until she quivers and shakes and cums. Head thrown back. Neck sticky. Clutching the pillow and sighing his name.

 

He nuzzles into her neck in the afterglow. “I’m right here baby.” He kisses her collarbones and slips those pretty panties off her hips. Sheds his own underwear too.

 

When he then devours sight of her all naked - he growls an annoyed frown at the cutting red marks the tight lace made biting into her skin. Butterfly kisses pressed to both her hips.

 

He doesn’t stroke himself. He doesn’t want that. He wants her. And he has her.

 

  
He grasps his heavy shaft and slides into her in one slow push. Cock going on and on like it usually does. When he bottoms out to the hilt they both shiver and clasp each other tighter. Not taking their eyes off each other.

 

He thumbs at her cheek as he thrusts into her. Fingers stroking her face. Her legs curling onto his back. His lips kiss her chin, her nose, her eyelids. Anywhere he can reach. He slowly rubs their bodies together til they’re flushed. All his sweat drips onto her. Flushed bodies rub together. And it’s not sleazy or disgusting at all-

 

It’s _beautiful_.

 

The intensity of their fucking pounds the breath out of them. But he’s not railing her viciously. Not shaking the bedroom wall with the slamming headboard like he usually does by fucking her.

 

He’s gently working a slow soothing rhythm into her. Feeling her drip out onto the sheets. Down his balls. Sticky. Sticky everywhere. He loves it. _Needs_ it.

 

“Evie.” He sighs. Shudders with it. “Thankyou for marrying me. For being my wife. Ugh- for loving me...” He gasps as he cups her face. Shakily kissing her. Sweat from his lips running to hers.

 

She cries. She can’t help it. Tears flow down her face and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

He wipes the tears away with his big thumb. Knows how intense all this is- he feels it too. He feels every shred of it. And it scars him and changes him more than any of those rotten marks left on his back.

 

Ironic that the greatest most wholesome thing he’s ever felt doesn’t leave a mark on him. Atleast now there’s a wedding ring to mark the momentous thing. But that’s only the _start_... Evie’s loving effect on him is wound around every bone. He’s sure.

 

“I love you. I love you so much.” She kisses into him. Hands in his hair, and feeling down his strong neck. “You make me so happy.”

 

“Always. _Ugh_ fuck. I’ll always want you happy.” He gasps in a promise as he nudges and smooches her collarbone. Nose nuzzling into her.

 

“You’re mine. _Oh god baby -yeah-_ and you’re mine forever.” He kisses her almost desperate to drink her in.

 

“Please cum for me. I can feel you’re close. I can feel your sweet little orgasm building. Please _cum_.” He whines. She nods.

 

Rubbing her hips up to meet his and he sinks deeper. Bliss clawing at his skin and desire making his heart soften. He wraps up in her and buried his face in her neck when both their orgasms obliterate through their bodies. Blazing pleasure slips over every nerve.

 

He doesn’t stop rasping love into her ear as he cums. She swallows him whole. Kylo spurts deep and scorching hot. Following her lead. She’s pouring sticky wet out around him now. He’s busy kissing the moans off her lips. Moving his hips and that big veiny cock until every spec of pleasure fizzles out.

 

They sink into the sweaty peace of afterglow. Holding each other. He’s grasping onto her so tight she’s crushed. She doesn’t mind. She never minds.

 

“Thankyou for marrying me too.” She turns on her side and whispers into his shoulder. The downy pillow crinkles as he moves his head up and looks her square in the eyes. Affectionately strokes hair off her tacky forehead.

 

“Easiest decision I’ve ever made, Kitten.” He promises with the fondest smile.

 

And it really, _really_ was.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that Italian wedding for you guys? 💕 lemme know


	61. Homes & Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.” - Frank Herbert 💕

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Five months later_

 

 

There’s nothing quite like marriage. Or atleast, that’s what Evie thinks. A handful of months into matrimonial bliss and she’s ready to exclaim that marriage is one of the best things to ever exist on planet Earth.

 

Maybe she is a little biased- she does have the worlds most wonderfully handsome husband after all.

 

After their vineyard wedding and a few more days of savouring their honeymoon lust, they say a sad wrenching goodbye to their Italian elopement adventure. They head home along with everyone else. After all- they had a house to be thinking about now. A home to get building.

 

That’s better time spent to her, than any lazy tropical honeymoon. Why roast somewhere on a sandy beach when they could be building a new house?

 

They start on it right away. Fresh from their holiday and still sun kissed from the vineyard heat. Kylo approved the build with the contractor before they left. By the time their feet touch down on home soil again the foundations have already been laid. Sunk deep into the ground and ready to build upon.

 

Evie is there with him on site most days. She brings all the workmen coffee and doughnuts. Knows them all by name before long. Gets so excited over any small change or progress. Brings Flo and Arthur on a tour. Even when it’s just a marked out shell of bricks. She still invited them over to come see it.

 

Time seems to pass by so quick. Slipping by like dry icing sand through cupped fingers.

 

One moment it’s a muddy building site in the cold rain with every conceivable thing covered in dust and wet from the miserable February downpour. The next? It’s standing proud and tall. Their home. The walls thick and the outer exterior looked like pristine snow stone carved straight from marble.

 

And to Kylo? He thinks it’s the best house he’s ever designed. It’s light. And full of white and air and homey touches.

 

It’s a sprawling elegant beast of a thing. White stone walls. Slate grey tiles on the pitched roof. Thin framed black windows. A light, freshly modern colonial design. Plenty of light and glass and tall windows - Evie loves tall windows. And it allowed her to see her garden all the easier.

 

The front door opens up some flat wide steps to a big pebble grey flagstone entryway. Light grey. Very modern. Right onto the hall, a big wooden imperial white banister with limed oak steps. The great curl of the staircase leads up a vast wall of windows to the first floor.

 

Directly to the left through the double doors is the heart of their home; the cavernous and modern French country kitchen. He and Evie had spent so much time in hers, he was sure to make it a real imposing fixture.

 

The kitchen faces out the front and to the back of the house. The back faces into a sun filled glass room that juts out onto the Italian influenced patio. To the left of the kitchen still, is the room he allocated for his study. It fills from floor to high ceiling the whole gabled end of the house, which is all glass. One big window with another lime oak staircase winding up to the half stuck mezzanine gallery of the first floor. Where the two guest rooms are. That staircase was hand carved too. Luxuriously, eye-wateringly expensive. But kylo will have the best for their home. For his wife.

 

Each side of the study is floor to massive ceiling bookshelves. And he had a great stone fireplace put in - rescued it from a soon-to-be demolished Château in Poitiers. And another to match in the living room down the opposite end of the house. And two more for their bedroom upstairs. One in the bedroom. One for their bathroom. The grey limestone lintel is creamy and massive. Arching. Rolling like waves. Slipping down in twin columns. Evie adored it. He paid out a lot to get them for her like it’s no big deal.

 

She gets used now to hearing her husband’s no nonsense tone on the phone. All stiff and imposing. And pure cold ruthless CEO. “I don’t care how much. I want it shipped out. today. I’ll pay whatever your sum is - tripled. Just get it.” He barks.

 

She kisses him on the nose. “I love you when you get all scary.” He makes a grumping sound after he hangs up.

 

But he does smile after that confession too. When he thinks she doesn’t see.

 

And he wanted her to put all her books in there, in his study. In the huge space. No stacking them on floors anymore when she runs out of room. Not now. Thats not good enough.

 

Because even though he had his desks put in this big bright room with lots of natural light. He let her pick the decor - down to the sofas and the furnishings and the huge rug and every trim and accessory she wanted. She opted for two huge pale blue velvet couches. And a big love seat chaise. Big and squishy and scattered full of blush rose, smoke grey and teal pillows.

 

Because he wants it as his study - but her library. Joined as one. He never wants a room in this house to be solely his ever again. All is shared. He’ll give her a study too - one branches off the lounge looking right out into the garden where she can have her desk pulled up flush to the window to always see it. But in his heart, he secretly hopes she wants to be with him as he works- and how she does. He doesn’t like drawing alone anymore. He likes her right there with him.

 

In the room. _Hell_. In his fucking lap if she wants.

 

He likes when she sits in the room with him and reads. Just to be near. He wanted to be drawing more houses knowing she’s sat right there, just behind him, in his. Drinking tea and listening the the scraping turn of the page of whatever book she’s reading. And the fires crackling away and they’re content just to listen to that - and the wind on the window and the scritch of his pencil hitting strokes on the paper.

 

It’s a muggy sticky mid-June. The day when they move in. The landscape is new and neat and bright emerald green. The sky is searing powder blue.

 

The wood surrounding them is lush and thick and dripping in muggy moist sunshine after the heavy summer rain. A whole four acres of private woodland and it’s all theirs. Kylo needs his space.

 

The air out here is thick and sweet with it. With summer showers. Laden with the smell of pollen and flowers and grass. The meadow up the mile-long green green forest drive is brilliant with flowers and insects. And their big home is echoing and hungry and waiting to be filled up with their belongings. Everywhere they turn is brown boxes upon brown boxes. Their home waiting patiently to happen.

 

Even though he hired movers when the time came. He still helped lug in some of the massive boxes of all her books. Nearly dropped it, it was so damn heavy. “How many more?” He asks her with a wry grin. Groaning as he stands the heavy thing down. Muscles flexing under his Henley shirt. Inked skin of his forearms rippled with the strain of it.

 

Not to mention his beautiful ass strains his dark jeans as he stands the box in the big empty echoing study. Squishy thick grey carpets underfoot did soften the noise- but only by a little. The hallway and the kitchen a grey flagstone floors. But upstairs in the bedrooms and the living room is the soft wool carpet she chose. Homey. Cosier than the tiles. He agrees.

 

She fiddles with her grey scoop neck t-shirt and answers him. “Not too many.” She says. Kneeling on the floor in her work jeans and dirty blue sneakers to already unfold one of the boxes, and welcomes the books within to their new home.

 

“That box says 3.” He points out. Hands on his big hips as he towers over her. “3... of twelve.” He points out lowly. Arched a sardonic brow. She gives him a coy smile to tease. “Then I’ll carry the next one.” She offers.

 

“You will not.” Kylo promises stiffly. Smacking her ass with a loud slap that shot through the stiff indigo denim as she bent over to reach at a book. She bites her lip. Cheeks heat. Thankfully none of the movers saw. They were too busy getting the couch through the big front door. Getting in the living room to the right of the entryway.

 

The first night they spend here is a maze amongst brown boxes and sleeping on the floor on the mattress cause the hand-carved upholstered bed frame had been delayed in being shipped by two days. And Winnies stitched old quilts and cushions piled on the bed from Evie’s house cause they can’t remember which box had their bedding in.

 

They eat chinese take out in their bedroom. With the balcony doors pulled open. A box is their dining table she finds a candle from somewhere to light their romantic first meal in the house. They sink wine from mugs because he can’t find the glasses either. And they sit by the beautiful balcony as a starry indigo night spilled in. Hot with summer. And they’re just as happy as if they had every last item of furniture and decoration put up in this beautiful place.

 

Kylo insisted on a big porch. They’ve got a lovely patio and Italian terrace out back along with a pool. He wanted to give her a welcoming overhanging stone entryway up to the front door. So she can have twin plant pots flanking the doors like she liked at his old place. And have two potted Xmas trees there in winter with twinkle lights around them.

 

The left wing of the house may have been Kylo’s study. But he gave her sole control and ownership of the lounge down the other end. Their big living room. With another hugely vast French stone fireplace - so its cosy in winter and she can have big glass vases of flowers there in summer when it’s not in use.

 

She chose the furnishings in there too. She went for two long deep white couches and beige, grey and taupe brown cushions. Huge woven beige hemp rug on the floor under the comfy couches and light beech wood and trimmings finishing off the room.

 

In here she chose walnut floorboards. On one feature wall is a creamy wallpaper etched with drawn birch trees, looking very John Tenniel. A deeply comfortable love-seat-chaise is set by the open fire, stacked with cushions. She can already imagine curling up on it in winter with the hearth blazing fire. The TV is the other end, by the wall of windows at the end of the house, overlooking the orchard garden and lilac trees, so they can still curl up and watch crappy movies together.

 

Evie decorates with flowers in vases, candlesticks and candles, photos, antique sewing boxes where appropriate, and a few antique Knick knacks from her place. Nothing too out of sorts. She anoints their home in her little soft Winslow family touches.

 

Gives their wedding photo’s pride of place in the middle of the lounge mantel. Just below the painting Kylo bought her at the Gala auction all those months back. Happy yellow mustard print lifts the light room. And it catches the sun so nicely where it hangs. It makes her happy seeing that painting.

 

She can’t pick a favourite room in the house. She has so many favourite facets of it - the stone fireplace in the hallway that she can already see a real Xmas tree stood next to come thanksgiving. She’ll have stockings pinned there, and real dried leaf or pine garlands will hang from everywhere she can reach.

 

And of course he let her put in a flower meadow out back. Near her allotment. So she can grow her own blooms at last. The chickens have never had such a big coop to roam around in, in all their lives. She understands the feeling. It’s new to her too.

 

Kylo let her handle the landscape entirely. He’ll pay for it. But she picked it. And she was out there planting it with the landscaper. All muddied and up to her elbows in dirt. Digging at 5am and pointing out where all the trees and shrubs should go.

 

Kylo emerged bleary eyed, bed haired, and in his lounge pants and a white rumpled tee, hours later - on his day off - in the big kitchen window with a mug of coffee to hand, to watch her. Seeing her streaked with dirt and helping pile soil onto the copse of bay trees just off their patio garden.

 

Their back yard is a thing of beauty. And it’s all her design. A low walls give the big rectangle pool some privacy. Cream flagstone patio bedecked with lime-oak sun loungers with white cushions.

 

The walls curl inwards and slope away to double doors that step down and allow a peek into the manicured garden beyond. Mediterranean oaks, bays, birches, and olive trees settle into their Italian themed garden.

 

The path lined with diagonal laid white bricks and shrubs filled in with white gravel. She put a seating area out on the patio next to their built in fire-pit that arched in a rise out the wall. It also served as a good pizza oven too. She saw it in a gardening magazine and showed it to him. He had it ordered for her that very same afternoon.

 

She still wakes up some mornings and stretches out in their massive Guardia gala winged-headboard bed, and can’t believe this lovely designed house is all theirs. It feels like a holiday she hasn’t returned from yet.

 

A few days later. She cries when she sees the kitchen all put together for the first time. _Because it’s just so nice_.

 

The two antique dressers he sourced from Toulouse, one filled with their glassware, and another with their crockery. One each side of the kitchen double doors. There’s a stovetop kettle like the one she had at home, only sparkling ivory and brand new.

 

She had a walk in freezer fridge. A pantry cupboard. There’s a rack hung above the squat kitchen island hung with every shape of copper pots and pans imaginable strung up there. There’s that light bleached oak counter where the big porcelain sink is sat, with the hand-turned brass taps - the ones that she said cost way too much (like that had ever stopped him before)

 

The cream Lancanche stove that’s the same length as her car on one wall with the Chantilly white cabinets. Adjacent to the kitchen island, the big benched oak dining table is just where they envisioned it on his drawn plans from day one. She chose those long oak benches for the dining table because it meant when their family or friends came over there wouldn’t be a fight over the right amount of chairs.

 

That dining table looks out the wall of bifold windows, facing the sunny patio and the garden. Five pulley adjustable silver lights striping down from the ceiling over the table for when she sits there and preps food or sits in the kitchen whilst she’s cooking or baking.

 

It’s the kitchen of her dreams. And it’s here before her. And she _sobs_.

 

Kylo’s never looked more worried.

 

“Babe? Do you not like it? We can change it. Evie. No, Please don’t cry. It’s ok- I can call the contractor...” He’s pulling her in for a hug to his chest and she’s drying her sore-salty red eyes on her cardigan sleeve. He nudges his chin on her head. Brushes his hands over her shoulders.

 

Through the sobs she manages words. And she’s _laughing? Smiling._ Her hands pressed to his pecs. And she rubs her nose into his shirt. Nuzzles him in a hug. Her big worrying husband. _  
_

_“No, God no._ Don’t you dare.” She sniffles. “I’m sorry it’s just- I’ve never had an entirely _new_ kitchen before- not ever!” She breathes out. Hand on her chest. Listening to her heart flutter and her ribs heave and sink.

 

Walking across and running her hand along the ledge of the double door, glass fronted grey farmhouse dresser, stacked with all their expensive eggshell coloured, vintage Villeroy & Boch crockery.

 

“Is that all?” He smiles. Sighing in relief. “ _Fuck_. I thought for a second you hated it or something.” He says with newfound ease.

 

Pads over to where she’s stood at her big wide sink. Overlooking the window onto the driveway. At all the lavender she’s planted in the edged beds which bordered the house. At the baby olive trees and planted by the window to forever remind her of the scent and sight of their sun-baked tuscan wedding.

 

He wraps her hips in his hands and sinks his chin onto her shoulder from behind. Bringing that giant body to encircle her. Wrap around her. Keeping her safe in the clutch of his massive biceps.

 

The scarlet cashmere he’s wearing that day is beating off scents of his hot skin. His cologne. Fresh coffee and their laundry powder. She’s switched it. From honeysuckle vanilla and lilac to one called fresh spring cotton. Lily of the valley, sandalwood and citrus notes. The house is ripe with it. Loves it living on her jumpers and woven in her hair. Settling in their sferra sheets with them like a third party when they go to bed at night.

 

“Please don’t cry.” He pleads. Honey-black eyes suffering as he presses a kiss into her rose scented hair. She laughs. Turns and hurried into his chest. Cheeks pink.

 

“Sorry.” She smiles. Nudging her face onto his shoulder. Smoothing her hands over that hard tummy of his. Her tears had dried up now. But the emotion still clings on. “I just love it.” She offers.

 

This man had given her so many firsts to experience in life- she never thought one of those experiences would be bursting into crocodile tears at the sight of a new kettle.

 

He makes them some honey-lemon tea with that clean new Mauviel tea kettle and huddled her under a blanket in his lap in the nearly completed living room to watch a silly movie. He strokes her scalp til she’s asleep. To his shame, he nods off too. Her all warm and snug in his lap between his legs. She really did pick the most comfortable couch. Even better that it’s so big and squishy soft he can comfortably sink into and snooze on it. Stretch out with her - maybe that’s what she had in mind?

 

Slowly their house comes together. Like loose parts of patchwork blanket being pulled in at the seams and sewn as one.

 

Their bedroom is where he’s truly outdone himself. Terrace doors onto a little stone balcony at the end of their bed. So they can see the trees and the meadow beyond.

 

Bathroom and bedroom fitted with a stone French fireplace. Walk in shared wardrobe - left for her, right for his. A big claw foot tub that can comfortably seat two - or four. Like hell was he going without his powerful steam shower. Wide glass square of it in their gold-beige and white tiled en-suite. One sink. Because he felt two sinks is a waste and they brush their teeth at the same one anyway. Their sad little married habit they’ve already adopted.

 

The same thick grey carpet in the study and lounge downstairs cushioned the bedroom floor. She chose a grey rug to go by the fireplace. He likes how cosy it’ll get in winter.

 

Their bed is a colossal thing. With a mink velvet winged headboard. Like a sleigh bed nearly. She chose the colour. The signature wall is a soft brown. Like butterscotch. She chose thick-heavy taupe curtains that block out the light very well. And soft antique brown wood touches in their mod-scandi bedside tables.

 

She worries the colours are too boring for him. He insists it isn’t. It is unusual for him not to have stark bleached colours everywhere. He’s glad for the difference in decor. He welcomes and likes it. He created the roof and the walls. She turned everything under them into a home.

 

She chooses soft brushing colours for most of the rooms. Beiges and greys, and soft blues. Calm earthy tones that look rustic and homely. It’s easier to add in more colour than it is to take it away and that’s exactly what she does. A lot of the natural stone he used is earthy coloured too. She goes along with that gentle palette.

 

After the busy business of building and endless ordering pieces to finish off rooms. After weekend upon weekend of antiquing and designer furniture showrooms. Their house is finally done. It took a few weeks to settle the last few details, and that’s exactly when Evie decides is a perfect time to throw a house warming party. A little summer gathering to toast their newly completed pad.

 

Flo & Arthur. Ben & Hux. And every single one of the mad and wonderful Bernstein clan.

 

On the day of the intended party, she stretches awake into Kylo’s arms and smiles. Glad to be there. She curls her arms over his shoulders and sighs happily as she’s throwing a thigh over his big hips and cuddling him close in the warm patch where they’ve snoozed. The ursine man next to her grumbles.

 

“Morning Kitten.” He rasps. Voice all bassy and crackling in his unused throat. Deep. Deeper than a granite walled cave. She nuzzles into his neck and his big paws wander through the white sheets to cup at her perky ass in both his wide palms.

 

She presses her body right up to his. Skin soft even through her cotton nightie. He sighs a sleepy smile when she presses herself right up against him. Kisses the top of his head. Scents his minty-spice shampoo laying with them on the crushed linen pillows.

 

He lays his nose into her throat. She’s holding him and watching the day creep through the crack in the beige curtains. Watches the bright morning sun shimmer that shade of walnut bleeding into black off the ends of his hair. He kept it long and only had it trimmed every so often. Kept it looking wavy and lush and the oil he rubs through after he showers smells like spring.

 

“What time is our peace being shattered today?” He grins wryly. Eyes still closed. His voice hums against her skin.

 

“Everyone’s coming around two.” Evie insists. Combing her fingers through his hair that had absolutely no place in being so thick and shiny-smooth. She knew some women who’d give their eye-teeth for hair like his.

 

“I’m going to have a shower.” She kisses into his hair. “And then get all the salads and cold stuff ready.”

 

“Can I help with anything?” He offers. Sprawled out now on his back in the middle of the mattress mottled ink skin dark on the light sheets. Where the fissure of light cracks the curtains. It cuts icy white across his ribs. One nipple ring glimmers with it.

 

“We all agreed, It’s a potluck lunch.” She begins.

 

“So, Flo’s bringing heaps of fried chicken, and corn on the cobb. May is bringing green beans and two hams. I’ve done mountains of coleslaw and mac n cheese, and some hot dogs for the kids.” She sighs. Counting it off her fingers.

 

Flinging the covers off and rolling over - and shifting over some more - to get out of the big warm bed. Wraps her soft grey dressing gown around herself. Ties the cord tight and runs a hand through her sleep knotted hair.

 

“You can help me with slicing up greens for the salads if you like...” She says. Calling back as she peels back the curtains and opens the balcony doors. He frowns a little at the flooding light. He never used to be a great sleeper and nowadays he loathes getting out of bed. Detests getting away from being near his wife.

 

_Who’d ever have thought it?_

 

She opens the balcony doors and let’s the summer pour in. The air is sweet from the clematis vine she has around the downstairs windows. Studded with fragrant white little flowers. He can hear the birds chirrup in the trees. The insects humming in the grass and the thrashing wind hissing through the woods. _Calm_.

 

He never thought he’d have a _home_ to feel calm in.

 

She disappears, pads into the en suite, opens the curtains in there too, leaves the balcony doors shut, and turns on the colossal shower. Let’s it get steamy hot and muggy warm. Fogs up the air. She heads back to the bedroom to brush away her knotty hair.

 

She doesn’t get very far before a very big husband ambushes her. Scoops her up into his warm chest. Gets her ass cupped in his hands and her loops her legs up around him. Naked warm skin of his torso right up against her. All that stone marble muscle under his warm skin.

 

“I will help...” He bargains. Flirting. Sucking her neck. Teasing her collarbones with his teeth.

 

“Only if you give me, half an hour, of that gorgeous ass - in the shower.” He purrs. Smirking at her. Walking her to the bathroom. Carried her like it was no extra ounce of effort on his part. His gait didn’t even falter. He strode her in there like she didn’t even weigh one fucking thing.

 

“I know what your ‘ _half an hours’_ actually mean.” She sighs. Smiling a kiss onto his greedy waiting lips.

 

It usually meant an hour _plus_. He’ll pin her to warm shower wall. Bend her at the hips. Take her waist and fuck her til her shivering legs collapse. Then he’ll sit her on the alcove of a tiled ledge in the shower that he put in especially for times like these, spread those thighs, and eat her pussy for half an hour til she’s all clean again.

 

He’s too greedy and gone on lust to care. He paws her gown and nightie down over her chest with one hand. Buried his nose and his lips in her tits and pushes the damn thing aside. Mouth slips at her nipples.

 

“Good. Atleast you’re nice and prepared. Now let me get you good and wet, Kitten.” He growls. And he does. Sucking marks into her jaw.

 

The get all sudsy and steamy hot in the shower. He gets her back up against the shower wall and holds her there as he pumps his hips and thick cock into her. Making good use of his morning erection.

 

“ _Holy shit_. Baby. In the mornings, I swear this pussy’s better than coffee. _Fuck_.” He grumbles at her ear. He fucks her til she shakes and doesn’t stop even though her poor sweet thighs are shivering with it.

 

“You can keep fucking shaking. Kitten. Keep twitching. I’m not even slowing down cause I’m not done cumming in you just yet.” He says around a love-bite on her neck.

 

Thirty five minutes and two loud orgasms later, he lets her out. On trembling knees she dries herself off and he slaps her ass as he leaves to get dressed. Honeymoon phase still clearly going strong. His red handprint blooms across her ass. As her cheeks blossom with heat too.

 

It makes her grin like an idiot to herself in the mirror as she gets ready.

 

She brushes out her hair and dries it til it’s fluffy. It’s going to be a sticky summers day so she puts on a breezy wrap dress. Blood red. With little tied bows on the arms. She slings some slider sandals on her feet. The black Prada ones he indulged her with for Italy. She tucks her hair back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. So it doesn’t get in the way as she’s cooking. She tucks stray hairs back behind her ears and back behind some fat diamond Tiffany earrings he bought her for Xmas.

 

She slips downstairs in a cloud of her Floris perfume and sticky jasmine body lotion. Grandma’s charm bracelet silver and jangling on her wrist. He’s already in the kitchen. Stood there in some dark jeans and one of his Zegna chowder grey dress shirts. Hunched over his newspaper and with a cup of coffee next to him.

 

He smiles seeing her and that little cute dress sway into the kitchen passing by him. He’s missed the sight of her in tiny sundresses and sandals. He equates it back to when they first met. All those pretty summery things she wore. Stole his heart away all the quicker. Knowing all he had to do is slip his fingers up her skirt and tease her at her soft cunt-lips through her panties. Maybe slip a couple fingers in her too-

 

She leans in because all he can smell over his bitter roasted coffee and the papery musk of his Wall Street journal is botanical jasmine and peony and blossoms. Blooming in the air to him. All those tempting notes. She kisses his cheek as she walks past to tie on her apron.

 

She resisted buying Kylo a kitschy one with ‘ _kiss the chef’_ on it. Had a feeling she’d pay sorely for such a tacky gift. He’d raise and arch that wry brow at her and he’d see to it that she wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. She just knew it.

 

She settled for a simple French striped apron. Kylo ordered all their cookware from the renowned culinary shop in Paris. The one on the Rue Coquillière.

 

She gets stuck into preparations. Makes up the dining table for the party. Given she was so generous with indulging him with a nice languid fuck in the shower, he helped her slice the tomatoes for chopped salad.

 

Helped her hang ‘ _new home_ ’ bunting up over the dining table. And over the pots and pans rack. He put out the paper napkins. The cutlery and the big bowls of food she prepared earlier. The coleslaw. The Mac and cheese she’s ready to get baking in the oven so it’s nice and bubbly and warmed through. She’s starting on the kiddy food. Hot dogs, and popcorn and chips and heaps upon heaps of spicy curly fries.

 

He smiles as he watched her shimmy her hips in her swaying skirts as she idly danced to some pop song on the radio. Swerved her hips. Humming along. Putting chips and dips and whatever else she made into big serving bowls. Walks it over to the table. He’s being dutifully helpful and slicing tomatoes for another one of the salads. She made mango salsa too. He steals a spoon of that when she isn’t looking. She knows he does.

 

Once two o’clock hits, they hear the tell tale crackle of cars rolling up the gravelled drive and as soon as that doorbell goes. Kylo knows he’s in for a loud busy afternoon. He likes that he is. He’ll never have a peaceful dead-silent house again.

 

For that? He’s so thankful-

 

He knows he’s a man who needs his peace and his distance from everyone else. But he doesn’t mind the bustle of family every so often.

 

He has his peace now. And he couldn’t be happier.

 

Evie swings open their door and greets and kisses everyone like the saint she is. As soon as that door spills open they surrender the quiet of their home up to their guests. May is telling all their kids to take their shoes off. And no running. They bomb through the doors - running - like a barrelling band of stampeding wildebeest. Raring through to the kitchen and mobbing Kylo’s kneecaps where he stands. Inundated. Evie always knew he’d end up as the favourite.

 

They clamour like crazy asking Uncle Kylo if they can go in the pool. Please please pretty please. A chorus of puppy eyes peering up at him. Kylo gives in. Only if they all promise to take it easy. No backflips or any wild stunts that’ll lead to someone getting hurt.

 

Flo marches in the room with two great chunky bowls of crispy fried chicken. Arthur’s laden with the big homegrown corn on the cobb. “I think you’re the new favourite now honey. You got a pool.” She winks. Kissing him and patting his cheek. He helps Arthur lay the food out, fetches the old man a drink. Difficult when Daisy and Minnie are hanging off his legs and hips like swaying little monkeys.

 

Evie encourages everyone into the kitchen. Kylo’s fetching beers for the guys. Evie, Flo and May put out all the food on the table. Breaking open the champagne Flo’s son, Mike, brought over. Toasting their new gorgeous home. The kids are dive-bombing and splashing madly in the pool with the floats Kylo secretly brought in for anticipating their arrival. That’s why he’s the favourite.

 

Pretty soon, the sun is blazing hot. Everyone’s got a beer - or a whiskey - and it’s just a good old family potluck gathering. With plenty of food and drink and laughter to wash it down. Kylo got in touch with Luca and had his new wine Bodega filled especially for this occasion. The square glass room of it wedged into the kitchen. Near to Evie’s pantry cupboard.

 

Halfway into the afternoon, and the door goes again. A certain Twin and his redheaded boyfriend make their entrance into the potluck party. Ben brings a whole case of white chablis. Hux brings an antipasto deli counter worth of expensive French and Italian cheese, meat and olives enough to feed an army. And In after Ben, on a red leash, trails in a sweet grey puppy at his heels.

 

Evie’s besotted with Bagel right from the off. Has been since Ben bought him home. Hux wasn’t best pleased. But Bagel and Millicent snuggle at night and tolerate each other. So it’s a symbiotic relationship.

 

She crouches and rubs his ears and fusses the little pooch. And willingly accepts kisses. Baby talks and feeds him little cubes of cheese from the fridge and the kids all clamour for the dog. And for Ben too. They seem rightfully fascinated by the fact he’s Kylo’s twin.

 

“Who would win in a fight? You? Kylo? Or Captain America?” Eddy begins the interrogation.

 

Ben scoffs. “ _Me_. Obviously.” Ben shrugs as if it’s a no brainer. Shrugging out his arms. Budweiser bottle in his big hand. Cartier shades covering his smug eyes.

 

“What about you, Captain America, and a shark?”

 

“We talking on dry land. Or in the sea?” He asks. But they’re already onto the next question.

 

“How tall are you?”

 

“Tall enough.” Ben supposes with a smile.

 

“ _How_ tall is tall enough?” Daisy wants to know. “Are you a giant?”

 

“I am actually. It’s a family secret. We keep it on the down low so our giant powers won’t be used for evil.” Ben hushed. They laugh. Which spurs them on.

 

“Do you like your brother.” Zack adds.

 

“Nah. He’s boring. And gross.” Ben decides flatly. That makes them howl with laughter like banshees.

 

“I don’t like my brother. I have a sister.” Eddy says making a grimacing face. May shoots him a warning look to be nice about his siblings.

 

“You have a lot of my sympathy’s.” Ben says mournfully.

 

“Isn’t Auntie Evie your sister now?”

 

“Technically, I suppose.” He ponders. Though that makes a very dirty thought ripple through his brain.

 

“So lucky! I’d love to have Evie for a big sister.” Daisy adds thoughtfully. Sighing in regret.

 

“She does have an awesome house. And a big pool. And she makes the best peach pie.” Ben winks across at the woman in question.

 

“Behave yourself.” Evie warns him with a smirk. Handing Kylo and Mike another beer. Minnie is now a fixture sat on his shoulders. Clinging on like a blonde koala. Starfish pink hands in Kylo’s hair.

 

“She’s also mean.” Ben stage whispers to his gaggle of admirers behind his hand. They giggle.

 

“That’s why I married her.” Kylo says to Ben. Leaning down and thanking his wife with a kiss to the cheek. Despite herself, she blushes.

 

Ben ‘Ewwwwww’s’ loudly at the sight of them kissing.

 

“It’s nice for you to have people your own age group to talk too, Babe.” Hux pipes up where he’s sat with May. Giving Georgia a cuddle.

 

“I used to love you.” Ben says playfully.

 

“Watch it - or I’m stealing this baby and bringing it home. That’ll shut you up.” Hux promises. Watching a mere hint of panic flash across his partners eyes.

 

“Y’all are welcome to her.” May says with the teasing exhaustion of a parent whose baby whose just begun teething.

 

Hux stretches her up, his hands under her armpits so she’s standing in his lap. Shaking her floppy toy at him like it’s going out of style. Smiling a dribbly smile onto her bib.

 

“Well. I do have one infant to look after already. I don’t want to overreach myself. Even if I am broody.” Hux smirks.

 

Ben rolls his eyes. But goes and steals a pair of Kylo’s trunk so he can rough-house and splash in the pool swimming fetch with Bagel and playing a splashing wild game of football with Zack and Eddy. Kylo tells him to not bother returning the stolen bathing costume. Not the first time his Twin has sullied something personal to Kylo, with his genitals. Hopefully it’s the last however-

 

He’s funny and louder where Kylo is quieter and more reserved. And the kids admire and adore him. He’s a fun crazy Uncle to have around. He wins over the kids over easy. Hux is happy sitting with the mom’s and grandma’s and holding babies and having a good old chat. Evie likes that he can admit to it that he’s in touch enough with his sensibilities as a broody man - who proudly exclaims he wants to become a father. Who knows what their future will bring?

 

Though Ben is a rising star. This doesn’t stop Minnie from asking to be in her prime spot located on Kylo’s shoulders for most of the day - he remained a firm favourite in her eyes. Kylo gives a tour of the house with her perched there. Ducks through all the doorways and they all hear her squealing with delight - echoing all through the house.

 

“Hold on tight, tinker bell.” He warns. She giggles in response. “Let me know if you get dizzy or something.” As he strides off on those long strong legs. Minnies munching popcorn as she goes and Evie’s pretty sure the kid is littering his hair with salted kernels of it -no doubt.

 

Kylo’s just finished giving Mike and Sheila a tour. Everyone else is outside and he fetched a couple more beers for the folks on the patio. Evie is in the kitchen watching the kids go wild in the garden playing fetch with Ben’s dog. Some are still splashing water about in the diamond blue pool.

 

The lull of later afternoon shifts over them all. Over the garden. Over the house. Soon it’ll get colder and the suns heat bleached away. The kids and Ben will wind down and - hopefully - come inside and dry off. And Evie’s got some silly films ready for them to devour in the living room whilst the parents take to the patio for a drink or two.

 

She watches her friends and her family smile and laugh and be happy altogether. In that sticky summer sunshine.

 

It lifts her heart right up. Pours liquid happy gold through all her veins.

 

The kitchen is a messy wreck. But she doesn’t mind it. It signifies beloved company. Empty beer bottles and used glasses and discarded plates. And scrunched napkins. A small price to pay to spend with family.

 

She just finished washing and drying her hands. Goes to join them outside on the patio with her own plate piled half full of food. When a very large husband appears - as if out of thin air - at her back. Sweeps his head down and makes his lips at home on her bare neck.

 

She smiles appreciatively. They’ve been torn apart going here, there and everywhere at being good hosts. Fetching drinks and giving tours of their new home. The first moment they’ve snatched together that day since the doorbell rang. His hands take her hips. Slither around her waist. Reels her back into his chest from the counter. Keeps her facing forwards.

 

She tangled a hand in that thick wavy hair. “Hello Wife.” He rasps with a smirk. Five months married and he still likes calling her that like they’d only been married this last week gone.

 

“Hello Husband.” She smiles back gladly. He nuzzles her ear.

 

“You know. Something occurred to me.... fairly recently...” He begins.

 

Placing his massive hands flat on the counter in front of her. She’s giddy with love merely from the way his breath rolls over her ear.

 

“Very recently in fact...” He adds. Playful.

 

“Oh yeah?” She asks. Leaning back into the cradle of his body. She wants to turn and look at him but he’s kissing her jaw and she really really doesn’t want to put a stop to that.

 

“Did you know; that it was a year ago, today...” He starts.

 

She smiles. “...The day that we first met.” She finished for him. Blush heating up her cheeks.

 

The same thought that they can’t believe it’s been one whole year, hangs unspoken in the air between them. Cherished.

 

One whole year since she was the meek little writer sent into the filthy pit of prison to question him - the cold violent killer inmate. Put inside for a crime he didn’t commit.

 

_Only, he did._

 

Evie’s not thick. She knew. In her heart, right down in the beating pulsing nerve centre of her very being, that Kylo _wasn’t_ innocent.

 

Maybe a part of her always knew he did it. He just had damn good lawyers.

 

He’d taken those five lives and he would never lie about that. But knowing him as she does now? He wouldn’t have killed those men without a damn good solid reason to. She’ll never know what that reason is. She’s made her peace with not knowing.

 

She’s just going to continue in loving him like she does. Her good, brave man. Singular among millions. She won’t pay the ugliness that is his history any mind. Cause they have a future to think about. Just them two.

 

The nasty past has no right and no hold on them here. No power. And that is just as it should be.

 

He tucks his face into her neck. And from his back pocket. Slides a little blue Tiffany colour box, with white satin ribbon, right in front of her.

 

That’s just what Kylo’s like. Never a man to miss anything. Little or big. He always remembers. It’s how and who he is.

 

“Was waiting for a chance to say Happy Anniversary.” He tells her calmly. Voice swimming in love.

 

Evie grins. Reaches in front of her, just to her left. Where she kept her cook books in the open cabinet. She pulls out a flat green leather box. Gold swirls brushes at the battered corners. Red silky ribbon tied around it. She’s blushing at the fact they both thought the other had forgotten.

 

And they were actually both buying presents for the other in hushed secret. If Flo were in here she’d call them love-sick fools. Roll her eyes so hard they’d socket back in her head like blue white loose marbles.

 

“So was I.” She confesses with a smile. Twisting around in his arms. Coming face

to face. Chest to chest. His arms still bracing either side of her on the countertop. He beams down at the box.

 

Leans forwards and gives her the gentlest brush of a soft desire-budding kiss. He tastes like frothy bottle beer and salty popcorn. She kisses the specs of salt off those perfect lips. He smells like popcorn too. Popcorn. Cut wet grass from outside, and fresh clean linen. He smells earthy green, like summer.

 

“Ladies first.” He sighs gruffly hot against her mouth. Whispering devilish and deep at her.

 

She takes that dear little sweet blue box and flutters open the white silk ribbon. He watches her carefully with that drawn back smile. Eyes switching from her face and her smile, to the box in her palm when she lifts the hinged lid.

 

He watches that beaming smile of hers widen.

 

It was a charm. A small sterling silver one that she could clip onto her family heirloom charm bracelet. A Tiffany one. Spelling the letter ‘R.’

 

“A little bit of Ren to go on your Grandma’s bracelet.” He explains.

 

Reaching big fingers over to pluck it out it’s home in the silken white box. Fiddling with the tiny thing with paws that look way too huge to do such a tender thing. He gently brings her wrist over and slots the little latch onto the slightly worn silver chain.

 

Admires her wrist as the little letter sits there. All gleaming and innocent. How it sits so treasured next to Winnies collection of charms. A silver book. A Scottie dog charm. A rose. A treble clef music note.

 

Evie leans up on tip toes, feet almost coming out her sliders, and cups his face. Bringing him down a fraction and stretching up to kiss him all sweet. White wine kiss. He tastes the sharp citrus crush off her tongue. Groans into her mouth. His big mitts snatched at her ass. Cupping it. Lifting her in a half horny hug.

 

“Open yours...” She sighs when they pull apart. All breathy and hot and flushed flushed flushed from their kiss. Lips spit wet with him. _Gorgeous_.

 

She hands him the green box. He does as instructed. Un-knots the satin ribbon. Recognised it as one from her shop. The split-rubies one she uses on gift wrapping books. The ends of the silk cut into V shape. Every detail taken care of and he never misses those rich touches of hers.

 

He opens the snappy lid and it’s his turn to curl a smirk. The box smells old. Antique shop kind of musty old. Worn leather and some tonic tang of long faded polish.

 

She’d bought him that vintage silver tie pin. The one he’d been searching after for so long. Circa 1965. The 9ct white gold with a white sapphire on the end of the pin. It can be with as a broach stud too. Exactly what he was looking for.

 

“Where’d you find it?” He asks simply. She recognised his grateful tone in the enquiry. He rubs a thumb over the twinkling sapphire.

 

“Put in a few calls. Pulled some strings. Mike helped me track this one down. Got it from an antique place a few towns over.” She smiles. He takes her chin and kisses her so good her legs wobble.

 

“Thankyou.” He offers sincerely. Words pressed into her lips. Blunted thereafter with another quick kiss. He sets the tie pin down on the counter. It sparkled in the meagre sun.

 

“Can’t turn you out not looking your best. People will think I’m a terrible wife.” She says. Shifting her arms to press into his chest. Hands taking up their cosy place touching his pecs through his shirt. Sweet face turned up towards him. The way a sweet bloom looks and gravitates towards the sun.

 

“You’re my wonderful wife.” He leers down at her. Smirking. “Always wonderful. And if you weren’t, would I have gotten this?” He asks her.

 

She looks as he takes her hand and brings it to a spot near his collarbone. Up the side of his tatted neck. She looks where he touches her fingers. And she notes the skin there is a little raised. And sore-red.

 

He watches her step closer and examine the new tattoo. It’s simple. In stark black and bleeding black ink into his alabaster skin. In the small patch of skin he has spare, there sits a small ‘ _E_ ’ inked on him. A new tattoo. For a -not completely - new man. He feels a bit new. She’s taught him so many new first things. 

 

She gently rubs a fingertip over the sore spot. He doesn’t tell her how that makes him shiver in both pleasure and pain. A nail raking entirely down his spine. Thrashing with all his nerve endings.

 

She lays a sweet gentle kiss on the spot. One hand seizes her hip and squeezes gently. A warning. Dark eyes clouding blacker with the sensation that’s stirring up the air between them. Sparks of heat and passion.

 

She looks up at her husband. Strokes her fingers through a handsome straying hair near his ear. She looks at that big impossibly earnest scarred face that’s all full up of melting warm love for her.

 

She falls in love with him all over again every time he gives her that soft smirking smile. The one that crinkles his eyes and warms their black depths.

 

“I love you.” She says. Completely honestly. Loving him with everything she has.

 

He slithers a hand around the back of her hips. Brings her right in close. Right to his chest. Home. Tucked safe where she belongs.

 

“I know, Kitten.” He smirks. He always knows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

~ _fin_ ~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for taking the time to come on this love story my friends. Your devotion and support to this fic meant the world and all the solar systems to me 💕💕💕💕


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